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1 


THE     POETICAL     WORKS 


OF 


RAY     PALMER. 


THE 


POETICAL  WORKS 


OF 


RAY    PALMER. 


COMPLETE  EDITION. 


jfteto  porfe  ana  Chicago: 

A.    S.    BARNES    AND    COMPANY. 
1876. 


Copyright, 

BY  A.  S.  BARNES  &  COMPANY. 
1875- 


Cambridge : 
Press  of  John    Wilson  &  Sa>t. 


TO     THE 

REV.  MARK  HOPKINS,  D.D.,  LL.D, 

WHOSE    FAITHFUL    FRIENDSHIP, 

EXTENDING     OVER     MANY     YEARS,    HAS     NOT     ONLY     CHEERED     AND 

ENRICHED     THE    PAST,    BUT    HAS    ALSO    GIVEN    TO    THE 

PRESENT    AND     THE     FUTURE     A     TREASURE 

OF     CHERISHED     MEMORIES, 
THIS     VOLUME     IS     AFFECTIONATELY    INSCRIBED     BY 

RAY     PALMER. 


PREFACE. 


r  I^HE  greater  number  of  the  Poems  contained  in 
this  volume  are  already,  in  one  form  or  another, 
before  the  Public.  Of  the  hymns,  nearly  all  those 
previously  published,  that  were  designed  to  be  sung, 
have  found  their  way,  some  of  them  many  years  ago, 
into  the  Manuals  for  public  worship.  A  considerable 
number  that  have  never  before  appeared,  with  others 
only  to  be  found  in  one  or  two  of  the  very  latest  col 
lections,  are  published  here.  The  writer  has  so  often 
had  requests  from  various  persons,  at  home  and 
abroad,  for  the  correct  texts  of  his  contributions  to 
the  service  of  Christian  song,  that  he  has  felt  con 
strained  to  prepare  this  complete  and  accurate  edition 
of  them.  Hymns  of  a  certain  class  are  intended  only 
for  private  reading.  Many  of  this  class  are  mingled, 
in  this  arrangement,  with  the  others.  It  is  hoped 
that  these  may  help  to  kindle  Christian  affections  in 
the  closet,  and  to  carry  comfort  and  cheer  to  depressed 
and  troubled  hearts. 

The  Poem  entitled  "  Home,  or  the  Unlost  Para 
dise,"  as  originally  published  by  itself,  was  very  kindly 
received,  and  has  been  circulated  widely,  especially  as 


viii  PREFA  CE. 

a  bridal  gift.  Its  purpose  was  not  to  describe  New 
England  life  and  character,  but,  by  presenting  a  gen 
eral  and  typical  picture  of  an  intelligent  and  virtuous 
Home,  to  awaken  the  many  pleasant  associations  that 
cluster  around  every  such  Home,  wherever  found. 

Of  the  miscellaneous  Poems,  some  have  been  pub 
lished  in  former  volumes,  some  in  various  periodicals, 
and  some  are  now  first  printed. 

The  author  takes  leave  to  add  that  his  time  and 
strength,  for  more  than  forty  years,  have  been  almost 
unremittingly  devoted  to  the  absorbing  duties  of  a 
Christian  minister,  and  for  more  than  three-fourths 
of  this  period  to  the  manifold  labors  of  a  city  Pastor. 
Poetry,  instead  of  filling  any  prominent  place  in  the 
programme  of  his  life,  has  been  only  the  occupation 
of  the  few  occasional  moments  that  could  be  redeemed 
from  severer,  and  generally  very  prosaic,  forms  of 
work.  It  has,  in  this  way,  afforded  him  not  a  little 
pleasure  and  refreshment.  But  what  has  been  written 
under  such  disadvantages  must  needs  claim  some 
indulgence,  as  compared  with  what,  in  the  case  of 
others,  has  been  the  fruit  of  ample  literary  leisure. 
He  will  be  content  if  these  leaves  gathered  from  the 
wayside  of  life,  together  with  those  that  have  now 
been  added,  shall  prove  acceptable  and  useful  to  the 
lovers  of  pure  thoughts. 

R.  P. 

NEW  YORK,  September,  1875. 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 


HYMNS   AND   SACRED   LYRICS. 

PAGE 

Salvator  Mundi 17 

My  faith  looks  up  to  Thee 21 

Eternal  Father,  mighty  Lord 22 

Praise  Him  I  Praise  the  conquering  King 23 

O  Christ,  the  Lord  of  heaven,  to  Thee 25 

My  God,  though  far  above  my  thought 26 

Thy  holy  will,  my  God,  be  mine 27 

Jesus,  these  eyes  have  never  seen 29 

Smile,  O  my  God,  on  me 30 

O  ever  from  the  deeps 31 

Come,  Jesus,  Redeemer,  abide  Thou  with  me    ..*...  32 

Lord,  my  weak  thought  in  vain  would  climb 33 

O  Holy  Comforter,  I  hear 34 

All  things  to  mine  eyes  are  bright 36 

Lord,  Thou  wilt  bring  the  joyful  day 37 

In  the  dark  days  of  grief 38 

0  Rock  of  Ages,  since  on  Thee 41 

1  know,  my  God,  that  Thou  art  near 42 

Father,  while  the  shades  of  night 44 

Come,  Jesus,  with  the  coming  night 45 

O  Unsleeping !  ever  keeping .  46 

Away  from  earth  my  spirit  turns 48 

The  crowns  of  earth  are  jewelled  dust 49 

Holy  Ghost,  that  promised  came 50 

That  glory  I  would  see 51 


TABLE   OF  CONTENTS. 


HYMNS  AND    SACRED   LYRICS    (continued}. 

PAGE 

Stand  for  Christ,  bravely  stand 54 

Lord,  Thou  hast  taught  our  hearts  to  glow    ..»•...  55 

O  Jesus,  sweet  the  tears  I  shed 56 

Each  pang  I  feel  is  known  to  Thee 57 

Take  me,  O  my  Father,  take  me .  59 

O  tell  me,  Jesus,  to  my  heart 60 

Light,  light  upon  my  soul 61 

Eternal  Father,  Thou  hast  said 63 

Eternal  Lord,  whose  power 64 

Jesus,  Lamb  of  God,  for  me 65 

My  God,  within  Thy  secret  place 66 

Thine  holy  day's  returning 67 

Wake  thee,  O  Zion,  thy  mourning  is  ended 68 

Thou,  Saviour,  from  Thy  throne  on  high 68 

Stealing  from  the  world  away 69 

Lord,  Thou  on  earth  didst  love  Thine  own 70 

Before  Thy  throne  with  tearful  eyes 71 

Alone  with  Thee  !    Alone  with  Thee 72 

And  is  there,  Lord,  a  rest 73 

When  downward  to  the  darksome  tomb 75 

Thy  Father's  house  !    Thine  own  bright  home 76 

When  inward  turns  my  searching  gaze 77 

O  ever  s-acred  spot 78 

Fount  of  everlasting  love 79 

Wouldst  thou  eternal  life  obtain So 

Amid  the  darkness,  when  the  storm      .....;...  81 

My  Father  God,  lead  on 82 

Jesus,  this  heart  within  me  burns 84 

Wh"y  should  these  eyes  be  tearful 85 

Yes.  kind  Saviour,  grieving 87 

O  Christ,  I  long  to  know  Thee     ....     ;.. '. .  . .  .;•    .     .  89 

Firm  as  the  rock  beneath  their  feet 90 

Come,  Jesus,  from  the  sapphire  throne 92 

We  praise  Thee,  Saviour,  for  the  grace 93 


TABLE   OF  CONTENTS. 
HYMNS  AND   SACRED   LYRICS    (continued}. 

PAGE 

Son  of  God,  who  midst  the  throne 94 

0  Spirit  of  the  living  God 95 

Thou  who  roll'st  the  year  around 96 

Lord,  I  would  heavenward  ever  press 97 

Where  climbs  thy  steep,  fair  Olivet       98 

1  see  my  Lord,  the  pure,  the  meek,  the  lowly 100 

Ever  as  I  onward  go 101 

Welcome  the  sweet  evening-tide " 103 

The  sabbath  bell  so  full  and  swelling ' .     .     .  104 

Thee  would  I  trust,  my  God 105 

0  Christ !  the  same  through  changing  years 106 

"  Behold,  I  come  !"     O  Son  of  God 107 

Let  no  terrors  haunt  thee 108 

With  the  Sabbath's  holy  dawning 109 

1  sit  in  my  silent  chamber no 

God  our  Father,  God  of  grace 113 

TRANSLATIONS. 

O  Thou  Redeemer  of  our  race 117 

Jesus,  Thou  Joy  of  loving  hearts 118 

O  Christ,  our  King,  Creator,  Lord 119 

Sing,  and  the  mystery  declare  ...... 120 

0  Bread  to  Pilgrims  given 122 

1  give  my  heart  to  Thee 123 

Come,  Holy  Ghost,  in  love 124 

Christ  of  heaven  the  life  and  grace    . 125 

Behold  the  shade  of  night  is  now  receding 126 

'Mid  evening  shadows  let  us  all  be  watching 127 

We  stand  in  deep  repentance 128 

HOME,  OR  THE  UNLOST  PARADISE. 

PART  I. 133 

PART  II. 153 

PART  III .    .    .    .    .    ...    .    .    .    .    .  175 

PART  IV t 199 


xii  TABLE   OF  CONTENTS. 

MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

PAGE 

The  Seaside 219 

The  Chorus  of  All  Saints 222 

Midsummer  Night 225 

Eternity.  —  A  Meditation 227 

The  Mountain  Maid 230 

Morning  Watches 232 

Burial  Hill .'  ...  234 

Mount  Washington 236 

The  Song  of  the  Seven »     .     .  239 


The  Unknown  Known 


242 


The  Voice  of  Freedom 246 

To  my  Wife.     Jan.  i,  1864 248 

The  Lord  God  is  a  Sun 250 

Nelly 251 

Forest  Wilds 252 

The  Watch  of  Love 254 

The  Ride.     Williamstown,  Mass 256 

Thrice  Born    .     .     .     . ' 258 

The  Hon.  William  A.  Buckingham 262 

Forest  Shades 264 

To  my  Mother 267 

The  Maiden    .     .     .    • 268 

Leila 270 

Dying  Words  of  Neander 273 

Thanksgiving 275 

Daughters 277 

President  Lincoln's  Proclamation 279 

Restlessness  and  Rest 281 

To  Tillie  on  her  Birthday 284 

Vaucluse 285 

Sunset 287 

To  my  Sister.     On  her  Wedding  Day 289 

To  Death 291 

Song.  —  The  Wife      ...  * 294 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS.  xiii 
MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS    (continued}. 

PACE 

The  Spirit's  Life 296 

Clouds •.     .     .     .  307 

The  Violet's  Complaint 309 

The  Birthday.     May  2,  1834 310 

The  Mound 312 

Sonnets  on  Christ's  Sacrifice  : 

The  Anointing 314 

The  Alarm 314 

The  Expulsion 315 

The  Institution 316 

The  Holy  Bond 316 

Gethsemane • 317 

The  Sacrifice  .     .     ? 317 

Mary  at  the  Sepulchre 318 

Threescore  Years.     The  Sixtieth  Birthday,  Aug.  2,  1874     .  320 

Epitaph,  for  Miss  J.  H.  A.'s  Mocking-Bird    .......  322 

I  Saw  Thee 323 

Rest,  Soldier,  Rest 324 

The  Christian  Soldier's  Sleep 325 

Mrs.  W.  L.  L 325 

The  Gathering  Home 327 

The  Strain  I  Love 330 

To  Clara 332 

The  Monks  of  Chester 333 

The  Golden  Wedding 335 

Farewell  to  Rome 337 

The  Angel-Child 338 

Misanthropy 339 

Response 340 


Son' 


342 


Palmer's  Indian  Maid 343 

Thou  art  unto  my  Soul 344 

The  New  Year 345 

The  Sceptic 347 


XIV 


TABLE   OF  CONTENTS. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS    (continued}. 


Song  .... 
To  the  Shepherds 
A  Hymn  of  Love 
An  Epistle  .  . 


APPENDIX 


PAGE 

349 
35° 
352 
354 


361 


HYMNS    AND    SACRED    LYRICS. 


Tft)  XptCTTftJ  KOl  TT)  EKK\1]<Tia. 

Speaking  to  yourselves  in  psalms  and  hymns 
and  spiritual  songs.,  singing  and  making  melody 
in  your  heart  to  the  Lord.  —  EPH.  v.  19. 

Let  every  thing  that  hatJi  breath  praise  the 
Lord.  —  Ps.  cl.  6. 


HYMNS   AND    SACRED    LYRICS. 


SALVATOR    MUNDI. 

THE  following  piece  was  written  at  the  request  of  the  Rev.  PHIUP  SCHAFF,  D.  D., 
as  a  prelude  to  his  elegant  volume,  entitled  "Christ  in  Song,"  in  which  it  first 
appeared. 

LONG  and  darksome  was  the  night 
That  in  dull  watches  wore  away, 
With  moon  and  stars  alone  to  light 
A  world  bewildered  and  astray ; 

While  oft  thick  shade  and  murky  cloud 
Pale  moon  and  stars  did  deep  enshroud ; 
And  nations  looked,  and  hoped  in  vain 
That  over  earth,  of  guilt  and  sorrow, 
Of  sin  and  hate,  the  sad  domain, 
Might  dawn  a  bright  and  cheerful  morrow. 

'Twas  not,  Eternal  Love,  that  Thou 
Hadst  lost  Thy  care  for  mortal  men : 

No,  Thou  didst  yearn  of  old,  as  now, 
To  fold  them  to  Thy  heart  again  ; 

Thou  didst  but  wait  till  men  might  know 
That  sin's  ripe  fruits  were  death  and  woe ; 

Till,  worn  and  sick  of  fruitless  grief, 

Of  lust's  foul  cup  to  loathing  taken, 

With  longing  they  might  crave  relief 

Ere  yet  of  God  and  hope  forsaken. 


SALVATOR   MUNDL 

There  were  who  heard  with  trusting  heart, 

E'en  then,  Thy  words  of  hope  and  cheer ; 
Who  saw  by  faith  the  night  depart, 
And  morning  break  serene  and  clear. 
On  holy  prophets  shone  afar 
The  gleam  of  Jacob's  promised  Star ; 
The  rising  of  the  Lord  of  day, 
That,  o'er  the  world  his  radiance  throwing, 
Should  chase  the  spectral  night  away, 
And  mount  to  noon  resplendent  glowing. 

When  Thou,  O  Christ,  of  flesh  wast  born, 
To  greet  Thee  in  Thy  humble  bed, 

Though  earth  Thy  lowliness  should  scorn, 
Celestial  bands  with  rapture  sped  ; 
At  midnight  on  the  silent  air 
Thy  birth  their  floating  strains  declare  : 

The  shepherds  catch  the  thrilling  lay, 

In  harmonies  their  senses  steeping ; 

Then  to  Thy  manger  take  their  way, 

And  gaze  on  Thee,  an  infant  sleeping ! 

While  Thou  didst  dwell  with  men  below, 
'Twas  morning  twilight's  early  blush  ; 
Thy  light  yet  veiled,  'twas  Thine  to  know 

Sweet  childhood's  dream,  youth's  joyous  flush ; 
Then  manhood's  burdens,  cares,  and  fears, 
Its  toils  and  weariness  and  tears ; 
Tears  shed  for  human  grief  and  woes 
Mark  Thee,  of  all,  the  Man  of  Sorrows ; 
And  through  Thy  life  the  grandeur  grows 
That  manhood  from  the  Godhead  borrows  ! 


SALVATOR    MUNDI. 

When,  all  forsaken  of  Thine  own, 

Robed  in  mock  purple  Thou  didst  stand, 
Thou  wast  a  King  —  without  a  throne  ; 
A  sovereign  Lord  —  without  command  ; 
'Neath  purple  robe  and  thorns  concealed, 
Divinity  its  light  revealed  ; 
Upon  the  Roman's  heart  it  fell, 
And  its  keen  flash,  his  conscience  waking, 
Wrought  in  him  like  some  mighty  spell, 
The  pride  of  his  strong  spirit  breaking. 


When  came  at  last  Thy  darkest  hour, 
On  which  the  sun  refused  to  look, 

Though  hell  seemed  armed  with  conquering  power, 
And  earth,  as  seized  with  terror,  shook ; 
Though  from  Thy  lips  the  dying  cry, 
By  anguish  wrung,  went  up  on  high ; 

Still,  'mid  the  darkness  and  the  fear, 

O  Son  of  God,  Thy  life  resigning, 

Thou  didst  to  those -that  saw  appear 

The  Light  of  men,  —  eclipsed,  yet  shining ! 

E'en  the  dark  tomb  of  chiselled  rock 

Thy  glory  could  not  all  repress  : 
A  moment  hid,  with. earthquake  shock 

Abroad  it  streamed  again  to  bless ; 
Angels  first  caught  the  vision  bright, 
Then  broke  its  beams  on  mortal  sight ; 
The  Conqueror  of  Death  and  Hell, 
Thou  stoodst,  Thine  own  each  word  attending, 
Till  on  their  wistful  eyes  there  fell 
Splendors  divine  from  Thee  ascending ! 


.SALVATOR    MUNDI. 

For  ever  on  the  unveiled  throne, 

O  Lamb  divine !  enrobed  in  light, 
Thou  life  and  love,  and  joy  unknown, 

Dost  shed  while  ages  wing  their  flight ; 
The,  cherubim  before  Thee  bow  ; 
The  fulness  of  the  Godhead  Thou  ! 
Thy  uncreated  beauty  greets 
The  longing  eyes  that,  upward  gazing, 
Feast  on  Thy  smile,  that  ever  meets 
Thy  saints  that  wait  before  Thee  praising. 

Head  over  all !  'tis  Thine  to  reign  ; 

The  groaning  earth  with  joy  shall  see 
What  ages  sought,  but  sought  in  vain, 

The  balm  for  all  its  woes  in  Thee ; 

Eyes  fixed  on  Thee  shall  dry  their  tears ; 
Hearts  stayed  on  Thee  shall  lose  their  fears ; 
Fair  innocence  and  love  shall  breathe 
Their  fragrant  breath  o'er  vale  and  mountain, 
And  Faith  pure  altars  shall  enwreathe, 
And  nations  bathe  in  Calvary's  fountain. 

Crowned  Lord  of  lords,  Thy  power  shall  bring 
All  Thine  Thy  glory  to  partake  ; 

Thyself  enthroned  Eternal  King, 

Of  them  Thy  love  shall  Princes  make ; 
And  Priests,  that  in  the  Holy  Place 
Shall  serve,  adorned  and  full  of  grace  ; 

The  Church,  Thy  queenly  Bride,  shall  stand 

In  vesture  like  Thy  brightness  shining, 

Content  to  clasp  Thy  royal  hand, 

All  other  love  for  Thine  resigning. 


FAITH. 

O  Love  beyond  all  mortal  thought ! 

Unquenchable  by  flood  or  sea ! 
Love  that,  through  death,  to  man  hath  brought 

The  life  of  Immortality ! 

Thou  dost  enkindle  Heaven's  own  fire 
In  hearts  all  dead  to  high  desire. 
Let  love  for  love  our  souls  inflame, 
The  perfect  love  that  faileth  never ; 
And  sweet  Hosannas  to  Thy  Name 
Through  heaven's  vast  dome  go  up  for  ever ! 


FAITH. 

THE  writer  has  given  in  the  Appendix  a  brief  statement  in  relation  to  ihe  origin 
of  this  hymn,  wh  ch,  as  embodying  the  simple  act  of  faith  in  the  crucified  Redeemer, 
has  so  widely  commended  itself  to  Christian  hearts.  It  has  been  translated  into  as 
many  as  seven  or  eight  languages.  See  Appendix,  Note  A. 

"  Behold  the  Lamb  of  Cod!  "  —  JOHN  i.  29. 

IV /TY  faith  looks  up  to  Thee, 
•*•*•*•  Thou  Lamb  of  Calvary, 

Saviour  divine : 
Now  hear  me  while  I  pray, 
Take  all  my  guilt  away, 
*    O  let  me  from  this  day 
Be  wholly  Thine. 

May  Thy  rich  grace  impart 
Strength  to  my  fainting  heart, 

My  zeal  inspire ; 
As  Thou  hast  died  for  me, 
O  may  my  love  to  Thee 
Pure,  warm,  and  changeless  be,  — 

A  living  fire. 


A   HYMN  OF  PRAISE. 

While  life's  dark  maze  I  tread, 
And  griefs  around  me  spread, 

Be  Thou  my  guide ; 
Bid  darkness  turn  to  day, 
Wipe  sorrow's  tears  away, 
Nor  let  me  ever  stray 

From  Thee  aside. 

When  ends  life's  transient  dream, 
When  death's  cold,  sullen  stream 

Shall  o'er  me  roll ; 
Blest  Saviour,  then,  in  love, 
Fear  and  distrust  remove ; 
O  bear  me  safe  above,  — 

A  ransomed  soul. 

1830. 


A  HYMN   OF   PRAISE. 

"  Let  every  thing  that  hatk  breath  praise  the  Lord."  —  Ps.  cl.  6. 

INTERNAL  Father,  mighty  Lord, 
*—^  We  join  to  celebrate  Thy  praise ; 
Let  earth  and  heaven,  in  full  accord, 
To  Thee  one  song  of  gladness  raise. 

Thrice  Holy !  cry  the  cherubim  ; 

Thrice  Holy  !  we  responsive  cry ; 
Well-pleasing  to  Thine  ear  the  hymn, 

When  mortal  voices  reach  the  sky. 


CHRIST  US    VICTOR. 


Our  lips  would  magnify  Thy  name, 
Exhaustless  Source  of  life  and  joy ! 

'Twas  from  Thy  breath  our  being  came ; 
Thy  praise  shall  our  best  thoughts  employ. 

Thy  power  hath  fashioned  sea  and  land, 
Hath  filled  with  worlds  the  eternal  deep ; 

And  suns  and  stars,  by  Thy  command, 
On  their  unmeasured  courses  sweep. 

Thou  hast  redeemed  a  world  from  death, 

The  ransom  Thine  eternal  Son  ! 
He,  by  His  cross  and  dying  breath, 

Immortal  life  for  man  hath  won. 

We  cannot  touch  angelic  lyres, 

Nor  wake  the  strains  that  seraphs  sing ; 

Yet,  Lord,  our  souls  Thy  love  inspires, 
And,  with  all  heaven,  we  praise  our  King ! 

1874. 


CHRISTUS   VICTOR. 

"  That  at  the  name  of  jfesus  every  knee  should  bow."  —  PHIL.  ii.  10. 

"DRAISE  Him  \  Praise  the  conquering  King ! 
-*-      Christ  our  Lord  is  Lord  of  all ; 
Nations,  joyful  tribute  bring! 

Princes,  low  before  Him  fall ! 
See  unfurled  His  royal  banner ! 

On  He  cometh  to  subdue ; 


CHRIS 'TUS   VICTOR. 

Earth's  long  wail  becomes  hosanna, 
Lo!  He  maketh  all  things  new. 

Hallelujah ! 
Reign,  O  Christ,  Thou  just  and  true  ! 

Praise  Him  !     Praise  the  Prince  of  Peace  ! 

Angels,  wake  your  strain  again ; 
Chant  His  triumphs,  ne'er  to  cease 

Till  our  God  shall  dwell  with  men. 
Christ  hath  heard  the  ages  sighing ; 

Christ  hath  pitied  mortal  grief ; 
At  His  coming  tears  are  drying, 

Millions  hail  the  glad  relief. 

Hallelujah ! 
Hell,  thy  reign  shall  now  be  brief. 

Praise  Him  !     Praise  the  Lord  of  Life ! 

Him  that  liveth  and  was  dead ; 
Past  the  cross  and  dying  strife, 

Vanquished  Death  He  captive  led. 
Ever-living,  life-bestowing, 

In  Thee  all  the  holy  live ; 
Fount  exhaustless,  overflowing, 

Health  and  gladness  Thou  dost  give. 

Hallelujah ! 
Earth  and  heaven  from  Thee  receive. 

Praise  Him  !     Praise  the  Lamb  enthroned, 

Radiant  at  His  Father's  side ; 
Him  who  by  His  blood  atoned, 

Him  who  names  the  church  His  Bride ! 


PRAISE   TO   CHRIST. 

Thou,  O  Lamb  of  God,  for  ever, 

Where  eternal  noontide  glows, 
Thine  own  flock  wilt  feed,  and  never 

Cease  to  guard  their  sweet  repose. 

Hallelujah ! 
Thou  hast  crushed  their  mighty  foes. 

Praise  Him  !     Praise  Incarnate  Love !  /  • 

Ranks  seraphic,  legions  bright, 
Souls  redeemed,  who,  fixed  above, 

^  Glow  in  His  eternal  light ; 
All  on  earth  who,  upward  gazing, 

See  His  beauty  and  adore, 
One  far-sounding  chorus  raising, 
Speak  that  name  forevermore. 
Hallelujah ! 

Crown  Him  !     Once  the  cross  He  bore. 

1871. 


PRAISE  TO   CHRIST. 

"  King  of  kings,  and  Lord  of  lords." —  REV.  xix.  16. 

CHRIST,  the  Lord  of  heaven,  to  Thee, 
Clothed  with  all  majesty  divine, 
Eternal  power  and  glory  be, 

Eternal  praise  of  right  is  Thine ! 

Reign,  Prince  of  Life,  that  once  Thy  brow 
Didst  yield  to  wear  the  wounding  thorn ; 

Reign,  throned  beside  the  Father  now, 
Adored  the  Son  of  God  first-born ! 


THE  LOVE   THAT  STOOP ETH. 

From  angel  hosts  that  round  Thee  stand, 
With  forms  more  pure  than  spotless  snow, 

From  the  bright,  burning  sesaph  band, 
Let  praise  in  loftiest  numbers  flow ! 

To  Thee,  the  Lamb,  our  mortal  songs, 
Born  of  deep,  fervent  love  shall  rise ; 

All  honor  to  Thy  name  belongs, 

Our  lips  would  sound  it  to  the  skies. 

Jesus  !  all  earth  shall  speak  the  word ; 

Jesus  !  all  heaven  resound  it  still ;        ^ 
Immanuel,  Saviour,  Conqueror,  Lord, 

Thy  praise  the  universe  shall  fill. 


THE   LOVE  THAT   STOOPETH. 

"What  is  man,  that  Thou  art  mindful  of  him  ?"  —  Ps.  viii.  4. 

IV /TY  God,  though  far  above  my  thought 
-*•*-*•     The  wonders  of  Thy  being  rise ; 
Though  earth  itself  appears  but  naught, 

And  all  the  orbs  in  yonder  skies 
Seem  trifles  while  I  think  of  Thee, 
Yet  Thou  dost  deign  to  visit  me ! 

Lord,  what  is  man  ?  Ah  !  not  to  him 
Is  due  Thy  coming  down  to  dwell ; 

Thou  whose  high  praise  the  seraphim 
Touch  their  entrancing  lyres  to  tell ; 

Thou  comest  for  no  worth  of  mine, 

'Tis  all  of  grace  and  love  divine ! 


SUBMISSION. 

And  I  may  speak,  as  speaks  a  child 

That  gazes  on  a  father's  face 
Suffused  with  love,  serenely  mild, 

And  fair  with  tenderness  and  grace ; 
May  lift  my  eyes  without  a  fear, 
And  know  that,  speaking,  Thou  wilt  hear. 

Thou  wouldst  not  that  my  needy  soul, 
For  what  might  ease  its  inward  pain, 

From  clime  to  clime,  from  pole  to  pole, 
O'er  the  wide  world  should  seek  in  vain ; 

Should  burn  with  deep,  intense  desires, 

As  one  consumed  with  hidden  fires. 

Thou  bidst  me  come  my  thirst  to  slake 
At  the  full  fountains  of  Thy  love ; 

And  Thou  my  soul  dost  fill  and  make 
Content  and  glad  like  those  above ; 

For  with  Thy  gifts  enriched  and  blest, 

My  search  is  o'er,  and  found  my  rest. 


1867. 


SUBMISSION. 

"  Thy  will  be  done  !  "  —  MATT.  xxvi.  42. 

THY  holy  will,  my  God,  be  mine ; 
I  yield  rny  all  to  Thee  ; 
No  more  shall  thought  or  wish  repine, 
Whate'er  my  lot  shall  be. 

Thy  wisdom  is  a  mighty  deep, 
Beyond  my  thought  Thy  grace ; 

My  soul  shall  lay  her  fears  asleep, 
Secure  in  Thine  embrace. 


SUBMISSION. 

When  clouds  and  darkness  rule  the  hour, 

Thy  bow  on  high  I  see ; 
And  e'en  the  rending  tempest's  power 

Shall  work  but  good  for  me. 

At  every  step  mine  eyes  shall  turn 

To  watch  Thy  guiding  hand  ; 
My  dearest  wish  shall  be  to  learn 

And  do  Thy  pure  command. 

On  Thee  I  rest  my  trusting  soul, 

Thou  wilt  not  let  me  fall ; 
Though  surging  billows  o'er  me  roll, 

I  shall  be  safe  through  all. 

Grant  me,  my  God,  at  last  to  hear, 

Well  pleased,  the  call  to  die, 
And  'mid  the  shades,  with  vision  clear, 

To  see  my  Saviour  nigh. 

Then  when  Thy  glory  breaks  on  me, 

All  radiant  as  the  sun ; 
Be  this  the  joy  of  heaven,  —  to  see 

Thy  will  for  ever  done  ! 

1867. 


UNSEEN,   NOT  UNKNOWN, 

UNSEEN,   NOT   UNKNOWN. 
"  Whom  having  not  seen  ye  love."  —  i  PETER  i.  8. 

TESUS,  these  eyes  have  never  seen 
I      That  radiant  form  of  Thine  ; 
The  veil  of  sense  hangs  dark  between 
Thy  blessed  face  and  mine. 

I  see  Thee  not,  I  hear  Thee  not, 

Yet  art  Thou  oft  with  me ; 
And  earth  hath  ne'er  so  dear  a  spot 

As  where  I  meet  with  Thee. 

Like  some  bright  dream  that  comes  unsought, 

When  slumbers  o'er  me  roll, 
Thine  image  ever  fills  my  thought, 

And  charms  my  ravished  soul. 

Yet  though  I  have  not  seen,  and  still 

Must  rest  in  faith  alone, 
I  love  Thee,  dearest  Lord,  and  will, 

Unseen,  but  not  unknown. 

When  death  these  mortal  eyes  shall  seal, 

And  still  this  throbbing  heart, 
The  rending  veil  shall  Thee  reveal, 

All  glorious  as  Thou  art. 

1858. 


A   PRESENT  GOD. 
A   PRESENT  GOD. 

"In  Thy  presence  is  fulness  of  joy"  —  Ps.  xvi.  II. 

OMILE,  O  my  God,  on  me; 
v-'     Thy  presence  let  me  feel ; 
My  soul  Thy  glory  longs  to  see, 
Thyself  in  me  reveal. 

I  would  not  wait  for  heaven, 
Heaven  may  begin  below  ; 

To  every  new-born  soul  'tis  given 
A  present  God  to  know. 

The  vision  of  Thy  face 
Fresh  life  and  joy  inspires, 

While  o'er  my  spirit  flows  the  grace 
That  kindles  all  her  fires. 

Though  on  my  saddened  heart 
The  gloom  of  night  should  lie, 

Faith  shall  not  fail  nor  hope  depart, 
If  I  but  feel  Thee  nigh. 

When  earth's  fleet  years  are  past, 
And  I  no  more  shall  roam, 

Give  me,  my  God,  to  find  at  last 
With  Thee  my  changeless  home. 

Then  shall  my  blessed  soul, 
At  fountains  gushing  o'er, 

While  circling  ages  ceaseless  roll, 
Drink  pleasures  evermore. 


THE  SOUL'S  CRY. 


THE   SOUL'S   CRY. 


"/  cry  unto  Thee  daily"  —  Ps.  Ixxxvi.  3. 


o 


EVER  from  the  deeps 
Within  my  soul,  oft  as  I  muse  alone, 
Comes  forth  a  voice  that  pleads  in  tender  tone ; 
As  when  one  long  unblest 
Sighs  ever  after  rest ; 
Or  as  the  wind  perpetual  murmuring  keeps. 

I  hear  it  when  the  day 

Fades  o'er  the  hills,  or  'cross  the  shimmering  sea ; 
In  the  soft  twilight,  it  is  wont  to  be, 

Without  my  wish  or  will, 

While  all  is  hushed  and  still, 
Like  a  sad,  plaintive  cry  heard  far  away. 

Not  even  the  noisy  crowd, 
That  like  some  mighty  torrent  rushing  down 
Sweeps  clamoring  on,  this  cry  of  want  can  drown ; 

But  ever  in  my  heart 

Afresh  the  echoes  start ; 
I  hear  them  still  amidst  the  tumult  loud. 

Each  waking  morn  anew 
The  sense  of  many  a  need  returns  again ; 
I  feel  myself  a  child,  helpless  as  when 

I  watched  my  mother's  eye, 

As  the  slow  hours  went  by, 
And  from  her  glance  my  being  took  its  hue. 


ABIDE    WITH  ME. 

I  cannot  shape  my  way 
Where  nameless  perils  ever  may  betide, 
O'er  slippery  steeps  whereon  my  feet  may  slide ; 

Some  mighty  hand  I  crave, 

To  hold  and  help  and  save, 
And  guide  me  ever  when  my  steps  would  stray. 

There  is  but  One,  I  know, 
That  all  my  hourly,  endless  wants  can  meet ; 
Can  shield  from  harm,  recall  my  wandering  feet ; 

My  God,  Thy  hand  can  feed, 

And  day  by  day  can  lead 

Where  the  sweet  streams  of  peace  and  safety  flow. 

1867. 


ABIDE   WITH    ME. 

"  I  will  not  leave  you  comfortless  :  I  will  come  to  you."  —  JOHN  xiv.  18. 


,  Jesus,  Redeemer,  abide  Thou  with  me  ; 
Come  gladden  my  spirit  that  waiteth  for  Thee  ; 
Thy  smile  every  shadow  shall  chase  from  my  heart, 
And  soothe  every  sorrow,  though  keen  be  the  smart. 

Without  Thee  but  weakness,  with  Thee  I  am  strong  ; 
By  day  Thou  shalt  lead  me,  by  night  be  my  song  ; 
Though  dangers  surround  me,  I  still  every  fear, 
Since  Thou,  the  Most  Mighty,  my  helper  art  near. 

Thy  love,  O  how  faithful  !  so  tender,  so  pure  ; 
Thy  promise,  faith's  anchor,  how  steadfast  and  sure  ! 
That  love,  like  sweet  sunshine,  my  cold  heart  can  warm, 
That  promise  make  steady  my  soul  in  the  storm. 


UNFALTERING   TRUST. 

Breathe,  breathe  on  my  spirit,  oft  ruffled,  Thy  peace ; 
From  restless,  vain  wishes,  bid  Thou  my  heart  cease ; 
In  Thee  all  its  longings  henceforward  shall  end, 
Till  glad  to  Thy  presence  my  soul  shall  ascend. 

0  then,  blessed  Jesus,  who  once  for  me  died, 

Made  clean  in  the  fountain  that  gushed  from  Thy  side, 

1  shall  see  Thy  full  glory,  Thy  face  shall  behold, 

And  praise  Thee  for  ever  with  raptures  untold  ! 

1867. 


UNFALTERING  TRUST. 

"  H<nv  unsearchable  are  His  judgments  !  "  —  ROM.  xi.  33. 

T    ORD,  my  weak  thought  in  vain  would  climb 
••— *     To  search  the  starry  vault  profound ; 
In  vain  would  wing  her  flight  sublime, 
To  find  creation's  outmost  bound. 

But  weaker  yet  that  thought  must  prove 
To  search  Thy  great  eternal  plan,  — 

Thy  sovereign  counsels,  born  of  love, 
Long  ages  ere  the  world  began. 

When  my  dim  reason  would  demand 
Why  that,  or  this,  Thou  dost  ordain, 

By  some  vast  deep  I  seem  to  stand, 
Whose  secrets  I  must  ask  in  vain. 


THE   COMFORTER. 

When  doubts  disturb  my  troubled  breast, 

And  all  is  dark  as  night  to  me, 
Here  as  on  solid  rock  I  rest, 

That  so  it  seemeth  good  to  Thee. 

Be  this  my  joy,  that  evermore 

Thou  rulest  all  things  at  Thy  will ; 
Thy  sovereign  wisdom  I  adore,  • 

And  calmly,  sweetly,  trust  Thee  still. 

1858. 


THE   COMFORTER. 

The  Comforter,  which  is  the  Holy  Ghost,  whom  the  Father  ^vill  send  in 
my  name."  —  JOHN  xiv.  26. 


o 


HOLY  Comforter, 

I  hear 

Thy  blessed  name  with  throbbing  heart, 
Pressed  oft  with  sorrow,  sin,  and  fear, 
And  pierced  with  many  a  venomed  dart ; 
.    Come,  Messenger  divine, 

Come,  cheer  this  heart  of  mine ! 

O  Holy  Comforter, 

I  know 

Thou  art  not  to  dull  sense  revealed, 
Thou  com'st  unseen  as  the  sweet  flow 
Of  the  soft  wind  that  wooes  the  field ; 
Breathe,  Messenger  divine, 
Breathe  on  this  soul  of  mine ! 


THE   COMFORTER. 

O  Holy  Comforter, 

Thy  light 

Is  light  eternal  and  serene ; 
Shine  Thou,  and  on  my  ravished  sight 
Visions  shall  break  of  things  unseen ; 
Come,  Messenger  divine, 
Make  these  bright  glimpses  mine  ! 

O  Holy  Comforter, 

Thy  love 

O'erfloweth  as  the  flooding  sea; 
Give  me  its  tenderness  to  prove, 
Then  shall  my  heart  o'erflow  to  Thee ; 
Come,  Messenger  divine, 
Fill  Thou  this  breast  of  mine ! 

O  Holy  Comforter, 

Thy  grace 

Is  life  and  health  and  hope  and  power ; 
By  this  I  can  each  cross  embrace, 
Can  triumph  in  the  darkest  hour ; 
Come,  Messenger  divine, 
The  strength  of  grace  be  mine ! 


O  Holy  Comforter, 

Thy  peace, 

The  peace  of  God,  impart  and  keep 
Unruffled  till  life's  tumults  cease, 
And  all  its  angry  tempests  sleep ; 

Come,  Messenger  divine, 

Thy  perfect  peace  be  mine ! 

1867. 


THE  HOUR  OF  JOY. 
THE  HOUR   OF  JOY. 

"  Thou  hast  put  gladness  in  my  heart"  — Ps.  iv.  7. 

\  LL  things  to  mine  eyes  are  bright ; 
*T\  Throbs  my  heart  with  deep  delight ; 
Birds'  pour  forth  delicious  notes, 
Fragrance  on  the  still  air  floats, 
Earth  and  heaven  seem  full  of  gladness, 
And  my  soul  forgets  all  sadness, 
Glows  and  quivers  with  the  thrill 
Of  the  joy  that  doth  it  fill. 

Swift-winged  thought  exults  to  range, 
Fancy,  as  with  magic  change, 
Makes  e'en  ugliness  look  fair, 
Finds  fresh  beauty  everywhere ; 
Life  itself  is  one  pure  pleasure, 
Tasted  without  mete  or  measure ; 
Of  whate'er  could  make  her  blest, 
My  glad  soul  seems  now  possest. 

Upward,  upward,  strong  and  free, 
Borne  on  wings  I  seem  to  be ; 
Unconfined  by  earthly  bars, 
Soars  my  spirit  to  the  stars  ; 
E'en  beyond  the  starry  regions, 
Filled  with  orbs  in  countless  legions, 
Mounts  she  with  "untiring  wings, 
Mounts  and  evermore  she  sings. 


THE   COMING   GLORY. 

Whence  this  ecstasy  divine  ? 
Why  so  rapt  this  soul  of  mine  ? 
O  my  God,  with  warm  desire 
Thou  didst  set  my  heart  on  fire ; 
Then  Thy  love  and  goodness  showing, 
And  Thy  light  around  me  throwing, 
Thou  didst  give  Thyself  to  me, 
Thou  hast  made  me  glad  in  Thee. 

Thou  art  of  all  joy  the  crown ; 
Thou  with  joy  canst  sorrow  drown; 
Let  me  drink  for  evermore 
At  the  well-spring  running  o'er ; 
In  Thy  smile  is  sadness  never, 
In  Thy  smile  is  gladness  ever ; 
To  Thy  child,  O  Father,  give 
Ever  in  Thy  love  to  live ! 


THE   COMING   GLORY. 

"  And  there  shall  be  no  night  there."  —  REV.  xxii.  5. 

T  ORD,  Thou  wilt  bring  the  joyful  day ! 
••"•^  Beyond  earth's  weariness  and  pains, 
Thou  hast  a  mansion  far  away, 

Where  for  Thine  own  a  rest  remains. 

No  sun  there  climbs  the  morning  sky, 
There  never  falls  the  shade  of  night, 

God  and  the  Lamb,  for  ever  nigh, 
O'er  all  shed  everlasting  light. 


DE  PROFUNDIS. 

The  bow  of  mercy  spans  the  throne, 
Emblem  of  love  and  goodness  there ; 

While  notes  to  mortals  all  unknown 
Float  on  the  calm,  celestial  air. 

Around  the  throne  bright  legions  stand, 
Redeemed  by  blood  from  sin  and  heU ; 

And  shining  forms,  an  angel  band, 
The  mighty  chorus  join  to  swell. 

There,  Lord,  Thy  way-worn  saints  shall  find 
The  bliss  for  which  they  longed  before ; 

And  holiest  sympathies  shall  bind 
Thine  own  to  Thee  for  evermore. 

O  Jesus,  bring  us  to  that  rest, 

Where  all  the  ransomed  shall  be  found, 
In  Thine  eternal  fulness  blest, 

While  ages  roll  their  cycles  round. 

1858. 


DE   PROFUNDIS. 

"  Out  of  the  depths  have  I  cried  unto  Thee,  O  Lord."  —  Ps.  cxxx.  i. 

TN  the  dark  days  of  grief, 
-*•  When  the  dull  hours  drag  wearily  and  slow, 
When  from  the  brimming  eyes  hot  tears  do  flow, 
Where,  where  to  find  relief, 
Shall  the  bruised  spirit  go  ? 


DE  PROFUNDIS. 

I  see  the  world  rush  on ; 
Each,  passion-stirred,  intent  to  reach  his  end ; 
All,  nerved  for  life's  high  prizes  to  contend, 

Glide  by  me  and  are  gone ; 

No  healing  can  they  lend. 


Voices  of  mirth  I  hear ; 

But  these  chase  not  the  gloom  thick  brooding  o'er, 
Nor  calm  the  billows  that  about  me  roar ; 

They  jar  upon  mine  ear, 

And  wound  me  but  the  more. 


I  look  on  Nature's  face, 

The  groves  and  summer  fields  and  lawns  and  streams, 
All  beautiful  as  visions  seen,  in  dreams  ; 

But  Nature's  smile  and  grace 

To  mock  my  anguish  seems. 


The  silent  woods  I  tread, 

Where  aisles  invite  with  oak  and  beech  o'erhung, 
And  sweet  wild  notes  by  many  a  bird  are  sung ; 

The  still,  cool  paths  I  thread, 

But  yet  my  heart  is  wrung. 


To  friendship's  breast  I  fly ; 
Of  its  deep  tenderness  I  own  the  power, 
More  gently  throbs  my  brow  for  one  short  hour, 

But,  ere  my  tears  are  dry, 

Falls  a  returning  shower. 


DE  PROFUNDIS. 

O  Jesus,  Thou  hast  wept ; 

When  faithful  hearts  mourned  o'er  a  brother  dead, 
For  mortal  griefs  Thine  own  pure  tears  were  shed ; 

And  ever  Thou  hast  kept 

Kind  watch  o'er  hearts  that  bled. 

Since  Thou  art  Love  divine, 
And  deep  compassions  in  Thy  bosom  glow, 
This  heart,  whose  anguish  Thou  alone  canst  know, 

Would  all  to  Thee  resign, 

And  trust  Thee  though  laid  low. 

My  spirit  Thou  canst  heal, 
Canst  give  me  patience  while  I  wait  for  light, 
Bid  cheerful  day  smile  on  my  starless  night, 

And  peace  canst  make  me  feel, 

While  yet  tears  dim  my  sight. 

On  Thee,  O  let  me  lean ; 
As  if  on  Thine  own  bosom  let  me  weep, 
Till  restless  sorrow  there  is  lulled  to  sleep,  — 

Sleep,  gentle  and  serene 

If  Thou  my  slumber  keep. 

To  joy  then  shall  I  wake, 

And,  taught  new  trust,  with  constant,  loving  heart, 
To  Thee  shall  cling,  nor  bear  again  to  part, 

Till  heaven's  bright  dawn  shall  break 

And  bring  me  where  Thou  art. 

1867. 


THE  ROCK  OF  AGES. 
THE   ROCK  OF   AGES. 

"  In  the  Lord  Jehovah  is  the  Rock  of  Ages."  —  ISA.  xxvi.  4. 

ROCK  of  Ages,  since  on  Thee 
By  grace  my  feet  are  planted, 
'Tis  mine,  in  tranquil  faith,  to  see 

The  rising  storm,  undaunted  ; 
When  angry  billows  round  me  rave, 

And  tempests  fierce  assail  me, 
To  Thee  I  cling,  the  terrors  brave, 

For  Thou  canst  never  fail  me ; 
Though  rends  the  globe  with  earthquake  shock, 
Unmoved  Thou  stand'st,  Eternal  Rock ! 

Within  Thy  clefts  I  love  to  hide, 

When  darkness  o'er  me  closes  ; 
There  peace  and  light  serene  abide, 

And  my  stilled  heart  reposes  ; 
My  soul  exults  to  dwell  secure, 

Thy  strong  munitions  round  her ; 
She  dares  to  count  her  triumph  sure, 

Nor  fears  lest  hell  confound  her ; 
Though  tumults  startle  earth  and  sea, 
Thou  changeless  Rock,  they  shake  not  Thee ! 

From  Thee,  O  Rock  once  smitten,  flow 

Life-giving  streams  for  ever ; 
And  whoso  doth  their  sweetness  know, 

He  thenceforth  thirsteth  never ; 


PRIVATE    WORSHIP. 

My  lips  have  touched  the  crystal  tide, 

And  feel  no  more  returning 
The  fever,  that  so  long  I  tried 

To  cool,  yet  felt  still  burning ; 
Ah,  wondrous  Well-Spring,  brimming  o'er 
With  living  waters  evermore ! 

On  that  dread  day,  when  they  that  sleep 

Shall  hear  the  trumpet  sounding, 
And  wake  to  praise,  or  wake  to  weep, 
The  judgment-throne  surrounding; 
When  wrapt  in  all-devouring  flame, 

The  solid  globe  is  wasting, 
And  what  at  first  from  nothing  came 

Is  back  to  nothing  hasting ; 
E'en  then  my  soul  shall  calmly  rest, 
O  Rock  of  Ages,  on  Thy  breast 

1869. 


PRIVATE  WORSHIP. 


Ye  have  received  the  spirit  of  adoption,  -whereby  we  cry,  Abba, 
Father."  —  ROM.  viii.  15. 


T  KNOW,  my  God,  that  Thou  art  near, 
-*-     For  o'er  my  trusting,  waiting  soul, 
While  starts  the  silent,  grateful  tear, 
Full  tides  of  sweet  emotion  roll, 
My  blessed  God ! 


PRIVATE    WORSHIP. 

Thou  dost  to  faith  Thyself  reveal ; 

I  see  Thy  face  serene  and  mild ; 
By  Christ's  dear  cross,  while  here  I  kneel, 

I  know  that  I  am  made  a  child, 
My  blessed  God ! 

I  need  not  speak,  for  Thou  dost  see 
All  that  I  feel,  but  cannot  tell ; 

The  longings  to  be  filled  with  Thee 

That  stir  my  heart,  Thou  knowest  well, , 
My  blessed  God ! 

In  Thee,  when  sorrows  rend  my  breast, 
Love's  tenderest  sympathy  I  find, 

As  to  a  Father's  bosom  prest, 
As  by  a  Father's  arms  entwined, 
My  blessed  God ! 

As  if  in  ocean's  darkest  deep, 

Thy  grace  hath  buried  all  my  sins, 

And  o'er  me  faithful  watch  shall  keep, 
Till  heaven's  eternal  joy  begins, 
My  blessed  God ! 


That  grace,  with  pure,  divine  delight, 
My  joyous,  thankful  soul  shall  own, 

When  bursts  upon  my  ravished  sight 
The  splendor  of  Thy  burning  throne, 

My  blessed  God ! 

1864. 


MORNING    WORSHIP. 
MORNING  WORSHIP. 

:  My  voice  shalt  Thou  hear  in  the  morning,  O  Lord."  —  Ps.  v.  3. 

T^ATHER,  while  the  shades  of  night 

Fly  before  the  crimson  dawn, 
Heavenward  speeds  my  soul  her  flight, 
Gladdened  by  the  day  new  born. 

Nature,  fresh  enrobed  and  fair, 
Greets  me  with  her  kindly  smile, 

And  I  breathe  the  fragrant  air, 
Drinking  in  Thy  love  the  while. 

All  Thy  works  are  full  of  Thee ! 

Glows  my  heart  with  living  praise ; 
Lowly  bends  the  reverent  knee, 

Upward  waiting  eyes  I  raise. 

While  from  garden,  field,  and  grove, 

Morning  carols  wake  around, 
Swift  my  thoughts  ascend  and  rove 

Where  eternal  songs  resound. 

With  the  wide  creation's  choir, 

My  rapt  soul  would  chant  her  hymn, 

Kindling  with  the  holy  fire 
Of  the  burning  seraphim. 

Light  of  men,  when  forth  shall  break 
Thy  full  splendor,  dimmed  so  long, 

Earth  one  hymn  of  praise  shall  wake, 
Ages  the  glad  strain  prolong. 


EVENING    WORSHIP. 

Son  of  God,  Redeemer,  Lord, 

All  Thy  goodness  none  can  tell ;  . 

When  Thy  gifts  I  would  record, 

High  as  heaven  the  numbers  swell. 

Through  all  labors  of  this  day, 

Let  Thy  hand  sustain  me  still ; 
Through  all  perils  guard  my  way, 

Make  me  strong  to  do  Thy  will. 

Let  my  day  dawn  calm  and  bright, 

Where  no  eye  for  ever  weeps ; 
Where  for  ever  comes  no  night, 

Where  eternal  sunshine  sleeps. 

1866. 


EVENING   WORSHIP. 

"  At  evening  time  it  shall  be  light.'1''  —  ZECH.  xiv.  7. 


,  Jesus,  with  the  coming  night, 
Refresh  and  cheer  my  weary  heart  ; 
At  evening-time  it  shall  be  light, 
If  Thou  art  near,  though  day  depart. 

Welcome  this  shade  that  brings  release 
From  hurrying  labor's  noise  and  strife  ; 

That  calls  from  restless  thought  to  cease, 
And  calms  the  throbbing  pulse  of  life. 

From  tedious  toil,  from  anxious  care, 
Dear  Lord,  I  turn  again  to  Thee  ; 

Thy  presence  and  Thy  smile  to  share 
Makes  every  burden  light  to  me. 


MIDNIGHT  WORSHIP. 

With  Thee,  of  all  sad  thoughts  beguiled, 
Peace  nestles  in  my  tranquil  breast ; 

And,  like  a  pleased  and  happy  child, 
In  Thy  kind  arms  I  sink  to  rest. 

Till  night's  dark  watches  all  are  gone, 
O  faithful  Shepherd,  guard  my  sleep, 

And,  when  yon  mountains  greet  the  dawn, 
Give  strength  my  heavenward  way  to  keep. 


1866. 


MIDNIGHT  WORSHIP. 

1  At  midnight  I  will  rise  to  give  thanks  unto  Thee"  —  Ps.  cxix.  62. 

UNSLEEPING  !  ever  keeping 
Faithful  watch  about  my  bed, 
O'er  me  bending,  and  defending 

From  all  ill  my  weary  head ; 
Now  each  restless  thought  composing, 
And  in  peace  these  eyelids  closing, 
Father,  keep  my  soul,"  I  said. 

Thou  didst  hear  me,  Thou  art  near  me, 

Waking  at  this  midnight  hour ; 
Changing  never,  loving  ever, 

Thou  art  my  defence,  my  tower ; 
Thoughts  of  Thee  dispel  all  sadness, 
Thoughts  of  Thee  give  strength  and  gladness, 

And  I  rest  upon  Thy  power. 


MIDNIGHT  WORSHIP. 

Purely  glowing,  stars  are  throwing 
Glad  rays  through  the  solemn  night, 

Ever  gleaming,  as  if  beaming 
With  Thy  glory  on  my  sight ; 

By  their  order  and  their  beauty, 

Thou  dost  teach  me  love  and  duty, 
Bid  me  shine  with  virtue's  light. 

Praises  bringing,  upward  springing, 
Mounts  my  quickened  soul  to  Thee ; 

Hope  fulfilling,  passion  stilling, 
Thou  dost  come,  my  God,  to  me ! 

And  in  holy,  sweet  communing, 

All  my  noblest  powers  attuning, 
Thou  dost  teach  me  Thine  to  be. 

Nightly  waking,  from  me  shaking 

Slumbers  soft,  I  will  arise  ; 
Bowing  lowly,  O  Most  Holy, 

I  will  lift  to  Thee  mine  eyes ; 
So  shall  speed  my  warm  devotion, 
Winged  by  tender,  pure  emotion, 

Upward  through  the  midnight  skies. 

Ever  living,  ever  giving 

Life  and  joy  to  all  Thine  own ; 

Interceding,  as  once  bleeding, 

Priest  and  Lamb  before  the  throne ; 

Thou  my  prayer  presentest  ever, 

Thou  my  praise  refusest  never, 
Christ,  I  trust  in  Thee  alone ! 


THE  BREAD   OF  LIFE. 

So  while  praying,  calmly  saying, 
"  Father,  bless  me  from  above !  " 

So  believing  and  receiving 

Gifts  of  grace  and  smiles  of  love, 

I  again  mine  eyelids  closing, 

And  till  dawn  in  peace  reposing, 
All  Thy  faithfulness  shall  prove. 


1866. 


THE  BREAD   OF   LIFE. 
; 

'  If  any  man  eat  of  this  bread,  he  shall  live  for  ever."  —  JOHN  vi.  51. 

A  WAY  from  earth  my  spirit  turns, 
**•     Away  from  every  transient  good : 
With  strong  desire  my  bosom  burns 
To  feast  on  heaven's  diviner  food. 

Thou,  Saviour,  art  the  living  bread  ; 

Thou  wilt  my  every  want  supply ; 
By  Thee  sustained  and  cheered  and  led, 

I'll  press  through  dangers  to  the  sky. 

What  though  temptations  oft  distress, 
And  sin  assails,  and  breaks  my  peace ; 

Thou  wilt  uphold  and  save  and  bless, 
And  bid  the  storms  of  passion  cease. 

Then  let  me  take  Thy  gracious  hand, 
And  walk  beside  Thee  onward  still ; 
Till  my  glad  feet  shall  safely  stand 

For  ever  firm  on  Zion's  hill. 

1833- 


THE   CROWN. 

THE   CROWN. 

"  There  is  laid  up  for  me  a  crown."  — 2  TIM.  iv.  8. 


'T^HE  crowns  of  earth  are  jewelled  dust, 
-*•     Or  weights,  the  wearer's  brow  to  press ; 
But  Thou,  O  Christ,  dost  give  the  just 
A  nobler  crown  of  righteousness. 

That  crown,  of  Thine  own  love  the  seal, 

On  Thine  a  gift  of  love  bestowed, 
Diviner  splendors  shall  reveal 

Than  e'er  on  princely  head  hath  glowed. 

Ten  thousand  faithful  souls  and  true 

Now  wear  the  crown  that  wore  Thy  shame ; 

That  many  a  wasting  anguish  knew, 
And  as  through  fires  to  glory  came. 

We  yet  must  wage  the  long-drawn  strife, 
And  oft  with  prayers  our  groans  ascend ; 

We  battle  for  immortal  life, 

Give  strength  and  courage  to  the  end. 

Then  be  it  ours  to  hear  Thee  say, 

When  we  shall  lay  our  armor  down,  — 
"  The  faith  ye  kept !     Ye  won  the  day ! 

Come,  take  and  wear  the  matchless  crown ! " 

1866. 


HYMN  TO   THE  HOLY  GHOST. 
HYMN  TO  THE   HOLY  GHOST. 

"  The  promise  of  the  Father."  —  ACTS  i.  4. 

T  TOLY  Ghost,  that  promised  came 
-*-  -*-  With  the  pentecostal  flame, 
Comforter !  we  hail  Thy  name ! 

For  Thy  mighty  help  we  call ; 
On  our  waiting  spirits  fall ; 
Fill  us,  cheer  us,  rule  us  all. 

When  returns  the  vernal  glow, 
Bud  and  blossom  wake  and  grow ; 
All  things  the  sweet  influence  know. 

'Neath  Thy  breath  our  graces  bloom ; 
Flee  our  wintry  shades  and  gloom  ; 
Come !  our  hearts  prepare  Thee  room. 

If  Thou  but  within  us  move, 
We  shall  mount  on  wings  of  love, 
Joyous  as  the  hosts  above. 

O  what  raptures  may  we  feel, 
If  but  Thou  our  eyes  unseal, 
And  the  things  of  Christ  reveal ! 

Blessed  Helper !  by  Thee  led, 
On  our  willing  feet  shall  tread, 
Till  we  see  our  glorious  Head  ! 

Then,  immortal  years  begun, 
While  the  eternal  circuits  run, 
Praise,  all  Heaven,  the  Three  in  One ! 


GLORIA   CHRISTI. 


GLORIA   CHRISTI.  „ 

"  That  they  may  behold  my  glory  which  Thou  hast  given 
me."  —  JOHN  xvii.24- 


T 


'HAT  glory  I  would  see 

Where  Thou,  my  Saviour,  art,  — 
Thy  Father's  glory  and  Thine  own, 
O  Lamb  divine,  amidst  the  throne ! 
One  of  that  host  to  be 
I  pray  with  longing  heart, 
Who  evermore  Thy  unveiled  face  behold, 
And,  like  Thee,  wear  celestial  beauty's  mould. 

Thou  art  adored,  I  know, 

By  all  the  shining  train,  — 
Archangels,  seraphs,'  spirits  fair, 
Whose  robes  no  spot  did  ever  bear ; 

But  Thou,  who  once  below 

For  mortal  guilt  wast  slain, 

Wilt  sweetest  count  the  strain  Thy  ransomed  sing, 
When  to  Thy  bleeding  love  they  wake  the  string. 

O  Christ,  Thy  rich  reward 

'Twill  be,  when  Thine  at  last, 
Made  white  —  strange  mystery  —  in  blood, 
Shall  faultless  stand,  the  sons  of  God, 

With  Thee,  their  risen  Lord  ; 

And,  all  earth's  sorrows  past, 


GLORIA   CHRIS '77. 


Shall  want  no  more,  safe  gathered  round  Thy  seat, 
Than  their  bright  crowns  to  cast  before  Thy  feet ! 


On  earth,  dear  Lord,  to  Thine 

'Tis  given  the  cross  to  bear ; 
As  Thou  wast  once  to  Calvary  led, 
Through  death,  to  live  our  glorious  Head, 

And  with  the  Father  shine ; 

All  who  would  rise  to  share 
Thy  life,  Thy  joy,  Thy  triumph  all  sublime, 
Must  learn  by  pangs  the  arduous  height  to  climb. 


'Tis  thus  with  faithful  care 

Thou  makest  glad  through  pain ; 
Dost  prove  Thine  own  with  fires,  as  gold  ; 
Dost  make  them,  by  long  wrestlings,  bold 

For  Thee  all  things  to  dare ; 

That  hell  may  rage  in  vain, 
While  they  with  steadfast  love  unfaltering  stand, 
And  share  Thy  glory,  set  at  Thy  right  hand. 


Thy  glory !     How  my  thought 

In  conscious  weakness  tries 
Up  to  that  sky  serene  to  soar, 
Which  night  shall  darken  nevermore ! 

My  soul,  divinely  taught, 

On  Faith's  strong  wing  would  rise, 
And,  as  the  eagle  mounts  with  sunward  gaze, 
Would  lose  herself  in  the  full  Godhead's  blaze  ! 


GLORIA    CHRISTL 

Nor  shall  that  blaze  confound 

My  spirit  with  its  glow ; 
Not  like  the  enchanted  moth  that  flies 
Into  the  scorching  flame,  and  dies, 

She  in  fresh  life  new  found 

Her  bliss  complete  shall  know ; 
Made  like  to  Thee,  and  in  Thy  lustre  bright, 
Unharmed  she  shall  behold  the  dazzling  light ! 

As  from  the  kindly  earth, 
Where  broods  the  noontide  heat, 
Start  forth,  born  of  the  vernal  ray, 
Sweet  flowers  that  with  the  glad  winds  play ; 
So  'neath  those  beams  the  birth, 
Thou,  O  my  soul,  shalt  greet 
Of  graces  in  thyself  unknown  before, 
That  live  and  bloom  to  wither  thence  no  more. 

With  Thee !     With  Thee,  my  Lord, 

Where  falls  Thy  smile  benign  ! 
That  will  be  bliss  beyond  compare, 
To  see  Thee,  who  the  thorn  didst  wear, 

To  heaven's  high  seat  restored, 

And  feel  Thy  glory  mine  : 
Thou  whom  unseen  I  loved !     O  that  shall  fill 
My  blessed  soul  and  all  its  longings  still ! 

With  Thee,  yet  not  alone ; 

All  Thine  in  Thee  made  one, 
The  fellowship  of  perfect  love 
To  holiest  sympathies  shall  move ; 


STAND  FOR   CHRIST. 

With  joy  to  earth  unknown, 
Thy  saints,  their  wrestlings  done, 
Dear  friendships  shall  renew  once  rent  in  tears, 
And  in  that  bliss  forget  their  painful  years. 

Ne'er  shall  the  splendors  wane 

That  gather  round  Thy  brow  ; 
Though  suns  and  stars  that  burn  on  high 
Shall  perish  from  the  midnight  sky, 

Thy  glory  shall  remain,  — 

The  same  for  ever  Thou  ! 
And  while  eternal  days  are  told, 
Thine  own  that  glory  shall  behold. 


1866. 


STAND   FOR   CHRIST. 


"  Take  unto  you  the  -whole  armor  of  God,  that  ye  may  be  able  to  -withstand 
in  the  evil  day,  and  having  done  all  to  stand.'1'' —  EPH.  vi.  13. 


STAND  for  Christ,  bravely  stand  !   thee,  thee  He 
calleth ; 

Stand  for  Christ,  toil  for  Christ,  till  the  night  falleth ; 
Falter  not,  win  the  crown,  ere  day  declineth,  — 
The  crown  never  fading,  —  behold,  how  it  shineth  ! 

Follow  Christ !  take  the  cross,  all  uncomplaining  ; 
'Mid  the  strife  thou  shalt  find  strong  arms  sustaining; 
When  the  foe  onward  sweeps,  like  a  flood  swelling, 
Thy  Lord  shall  defend  thee,  His  madness  all  quelling. 


CONSECRATION  AND   WORK. 

Watch  and  pray,  faithful  one,  hell  would  confound  thee ; 
Shafts  of  death  ever  fly  thick  all  around  thee ; 
Christ  in  love  evermore  o'er  thee  is  bending, 
And  thou  shalt  go  safely,  His  might  thee  defending. 

Be  thy  heart  warm  with  love,  faithfully  beating ; 
Be  thy  heart  dead  to  joys  empty  and  fleeting; 
Up  to  yon  city  fair  always  be  climbing, 

Where  hymns  of  the  holy  for  ever  are  chiming. 

1869. 


CONSECRATION   AND   WORK. 

Thou  knowest  that  I  love  Thee.     Feed  my  sheep."  — JOHN  xxi.  16. 

T    ORD,  Thou  hast  taught  our  hearts  to  glow 
-*— ' '     With  love's  undying  flame  ; 
But  more  of  Thee  we  long  to  know, 
And  more  would  love  Thy  name. 
Chorus.     All  Thy  dear  will 

Would  we  fulfil, 
Till  life's  last  toil  is  o'er ; 
And  when  we  rise 
Beyond  the  skies, 
We'll  serve  Thee  evermore. 

Thy  life,  Thy  death,  inspire  our  song, 

Thy  Spirit  breathes  through  all ; 
And  here  our  feet  would  linger  long, 

But  we  obey  Thy  call. 


AT  THE   CROSS. 

Thou  bid'st  us  go,  with  Thee  to  stand 
Against  hell's  marshalled  powers  ; 

And,  heart  to  heart  and  hand  to  hand, 
To  make  Thine  honor  ours. 

With  Thine  own  pity,  Saviour,  see 
The  thronged  and  darkening  way ! 

We  go  to  win  the  lost  to  Thee : 
O  help  us,  Lord,  we  pray ! 

Teach  Thou  our  lips  of  Thee  to  speak, 

Of  Thy  sweet  love  to  tell ; 
Till  they  who  wander  far  shall  seek, 

And  find  and  serve  Thee  well. 

O'er  all  the  world  Thy  Spirit  send, 
And  make  Thy  goodness  known, 
Till  earth  and  heaven  together  blend 

Their  praises  at  Thy  throne ! 

1865. 


AT  THE   CROSS. 

"  I  am  crucified  with  Christ,  .  .  .  "who  loved  me,  and  gave  Himself 
for  me."  —  GAL.  ii.  20. 

JESUS,  sweet  the  tears  I  shed, 

While  at  Thy  cross  I  kneel, 
Gaze  on  Thy  wounded,  fainting  head, 
And  all  Thy  sorrows  feel. 

My  heart  dissolves  to  see  Thee  bleed, 

This  heart  so  hard  before ; 
I  hear  Thee  for  the  guilty  plead, 

And  grief  o'erflows  the  more. 


THE   THORN. 

'Twas  for  the  sinful  Thou  didst  die, 

And  I  a  sinner  stand ; 
What  love  speaks  from  Thy  dying  eye, 

And  from  each  pierced  hand  ! 

I  know  this  cleansing  blood  of  Thine, 

Was  shed,  dear  Lord,  for  me ; 
For  me,  for  all  —  O  grace  divine  !  — 

Who  look  by  faith  on  Thee. 

O  Christ  of  God  !     O  spotless  Lamb ! 

By  love  my  soul  is  drawn ; 
Henceforth  for  ever  Thine  I  am, 

Here  life  and  peace  are  born. 

In  patient  hope  the  cross  I'll  bear, 

Thine  arm  shall  be  my  stay ; 
And  Thou,  enthroned,  my  soul  shalt  spare, 

On  Thy  great  judgment-day. 

1867. 


THE  THORN. 

'  I  besought  the  Lord  thrice,  that  it  might  depart  from  me.     And  He  said 
unto  me,  My  grace  is  sufficient  for  thee."  —  2  COR.  xii.  8,  9. 

T_^ACH  pang  I  feel  is  known  to  Thee, 

•*— '  Dear  Lord,  for  Thou  hast  sent  the  thorn 

That  pierceth  me ; 
Hast  fixed  it  festering  in  this  breast, 
That  with  new  anguish  wakes  each  morn, 
And  finds  no  rest. 


THE   THORN: 

Though  oft  with  burning  tears  I've  prayed 
That  Thou  wouldst  take  this  grief  away, 

Thou  hast  delayed ; 

Yet  Thou  hast  pledged  Thy  word  to  keep, 
To  succor  in  the  sorrowing  day 

Thine  own  who  weep. 

Why  tarriest  Thou  ?     Long  must  I  plead, 
With  hope  deferred,  that  Thou  wilt  send 

The  help  I  need  ? 

Hast  Thou  Thy  words  of  love  forgot, 
That,  when  o'erwhelmed  I  lowly  bend, 

Thou  ajiswerest  not  ? 

Be  still,  my  soul,  and  meekly  bear 
Thy  pain,  nor  yield  one  doubt  a  place, 

Lest  dark  despair 

Prevail  thy  steadfast  trust  to  shake ; 
Though  in  thick  shades  He  hides  His  face, 

The  dawn  shall  break ! 

Ah  !  now,  at  last,  He  speaks.     A  thrill 
Sweeps  through  my  soul,  and  tides  of  love 

My  being  fill :  — 

"  Canst  thou  not  bear  the  cross  with  me  ? 
I  may  not  yet  the  thorn  remove 

That  woundeth  Thee ; 

But  thou  shalt  lean  upon  my  breast, 

My  strength  shall  make  thy  weakness  strong ; 

When  most  oppressed, 
Then  most  my  grace  shalt  thou  partake ; 
And  from  thy  burdened  heart  a  song 

Of  joy  shall  break  !  " 


1864. 


SELF-SURRENDER. 
SELF-SURRENDER. 

"  /  will  arise  and  go  to  my  Father."  —  LUKE  xv.  18. 

TAKE  me,  O  my  Father,  take  me, — 
Take  me,  save  me,  through  Thy  Son ; 
That  which  Thou  wouldst  have  me,  make  me, 
Let  Thy  will  in  me  be  done. 

Long  from  Thee  my  footsteps  straying, 

Thorny  proved  the  way  I  trod ; 
Weary  come  I  now,  and  praying, 

Take  me  to  Thy  love,  my  God ! 

Fruitless  years  with  grief  recalling, 

Humbly  I  confess  my  sin  ! 
At  Thy  feet,  O  Father,  falling, 

To  Thy  household  take  me  in. 

Freely  now  to  Thee  I  proffer 

This  relenting  heart  of  mine ; 
Freely  life  and  soul  I  offer, 

Gift  unworthy  love  like  Thine. 

Once  the  world's  Redeemer,  dying, 

Bore  our  sins  upon  the  tree ; 
On  that  sacrifice  relying, 

Now  I  look  in  hope  to  Thee. 

Father,  take  me  !  all  forgiving, 

Fold  me  to  Thy  loving  breast ; 
In  Thy  love  for  ever  living, 

I  must  be  for  ever  blest. 

1864. 


SELF-QUESTIONING. 

'  SELF-QUESTIONING. 
"  One  of  you  shall  betray  me."  —  MATT.  xxvi.  21. 

TELL  me,  Jesus,  to  my  heart  — 

My  troubled  heart  —  the  secret  tell ; 
May  I  from  Thee  and  Thine  depart, 

As  Judas,  when  he  falsely  fell  ? 
Is  it  not  love,  —  this  kindling  flame 
That  warms  my  breast  oft  as  Thy  name 

Falls  on  my  willing  ear  ? 
Is  it  not  faith  that  oft  hath  brought 
My  trembling  soul  the  peace  it  sought, 
And  stilled  each  restless  fear  ? 

This  quiet  joy  that  hidden  flows 

Deep  in  my  soul,  and  makes  me  glad, 
Though  many  a  rude  wind  round  me  blows, 

And  many  a  sorrow  makes  me  sad ; 
Can  this  calm  joy  that  ever  lives 
Be  aught  but  that  Thy  presence  gives, 

To  faithful  souls  revealed  ? 
The  presence  and  the  loving  smile 
That  gladdens  all  Thine  own,  —  the  while 
From  unbelief  concealed  ? 

The  tears  that  oft  these  eyes  have  wept, 
When  I  before  Thy  feet  have  knelt, 

Or  watch  about  Thy  cross  have  kept, 
And  all  Thy  pangs  have  keenly  felt,  — 


GOD  REVEALED. 

Came  they  not  from  that  holy  grief 
That  brings  the  broken  heart  relief, 

And  softens  it  to  love  ? 
Was  not  the  hope  that  wakened  there 
Hope  that  shall  triumph  o'er  despair 

And  bear  the  soul  above  ? 


Speak,  Thou  that  knowest  well,  decide ; 

If  I  am  Thine,  O  clasp  this  hand, 
And  when  my  feet  would  stray  or  slide, 

Then  firmly  hold  and  bid  me  stand. 
Go  forth  from  Thee  ?     Give  me  to  bear 
Thy  bitter  cross,  Thy  thorns  to  wear ; 

But  let  me  not  depart ! 
No,  Lord,  afresh  to  Thee  I  bring, 
A  free,  a  cheerful  offering, 

This  trusting,  grateful  heart. 

1863. 


GOD    REVEALED. 

"All my  springs  are  in  Thee"  —  Ps.  Ixxxvii.  7. 

T    IGHT,  light  upon  my  soul ! 

•*— '     Downward  it  streams  from  its  celestial 

fountains ; 

About  me  glows  like  sunrise  on  the  mountains ; 
It  bringeth  gladsome  cheer, 
Farewell,  my  night  of  fear ! 


GOD  REVEALED. 


Life,  life  I  feel  within  ! 

Fresh  from  its  rich,  immortal  source  descending, 
It  lends  me  power  divine,  for  ever  ending 

The  weakness  felt  before ; 

I  now  can  faint  no  more. 


Love,  love  my  bosom  fills ! 

From  Him  whose  name  is  Love,  it  comes,  inspiring 
Deep,  warm,  responsive  love,  my  spirit  firing 

With  holy,  rapturous  glow, 

Such  as  pure  seraphs  know. 


Joy,  joy  within  my  heart ! 
From  its  bright  home  above  divinely  flowing, 
Like  perfume  from  some  orient  garden  blowing, 

Or  like  the  fragrant  air 

Wafted  o'er  meadows  fair. 


God,  God  the  great  and  good ! 
That  from  the  sense  His  glory  all  concealing, 
To  lowly  faith  delighteth  in  revealing 

Himself,  the  Highest,  Best, — 

All  being's  bliss  and  rest ! 

1864. 


THE  JUBILEE. 


THE   JUBILEE. 


THIS  Hymn  was  written  for  the  fiftieth  Anniversary  of  the  American  Board  of 
Commissioners  for  Foreign  Missions,  and  sung  at  the  Jubilee  Celebration,  held  in 
the  Tremont  Temple  at  Boston,  Oct.  3-5,  1860. 


ETERNAL  Father !  Thou  hast  said 
That  Christ  all  glory  shall  obtain ; 
That  He  who  once,  a  sufferer,  bled, 

Shall  o'er  the  world,  a  conqueror,  reign. 

We  wait  Thy  triumph,  Saviour,  King ! 

Long  ages  have  prepared  the  way ; 
Now  all  abroad  Thy  banner  fling, 

Set  Time's  great  battle  in  array. 

Thy  hosts  are  mustered  to  the  field, 

"  The  Cross  !  the  Cross  !  "  their  battle-call ; 

The  old  grim  towers  of  darkness  yield, 
And  soon  shall  totter  to  their  fall. 

On  mountain  tops  the  watch-fires  glow, 

Where  scattered  wide  the  watchmen  stand ; 

Voice  echoes  voice,  and  onward  flow 
The  joyous  shouts  from  land  to  land. 

Thou  hast  our  humble  service  blest, 

While  fifty  years  have  rolled  their  round  ; 

Weary  and  worn  the  fathers  rest, 

But  in  their  stead  the  sons  are  found. 


MISSIONARY  PARTING  HYMN, 

O  fill  Thy  church  wkh  faith  and  power ! 

Bid  her  long  night  of  weeping  cease ; 
To  groaning  nations  haste  the  hour 

Of  life  and  freedom,  light  and  peace. 

Come,  Spirit,  make  Thy  wonders  known  ! 

Fulfil  the  Father's  high  decree  ; 
Then  earth  —  the  might  of  hell  o'erthrown  — 

Shall  keep  her  last  great  jubilee. 

1860. 


MISSIONARY   PARTING   HYMN. 

"  Go  ye  into  all  the  world,  and  preach  the  gospel  to  every  creature. 
MARK  xvi.  15. 

INTERNAL  Lord,  whose  power 
•*— '     Canxalm  the  heaving  ocean, 

Exalted  Thou, 

Yet  gracious  bow ; 
Accept  our  warm  devotion. 

For  Thee  our  all  we  leave, 
Nor  drop  a  tear  of  sadness ; 

As  on  we  glide, 

Be  Thou  our  guide, 
And  fill  our  hearts  with  gladness. 

We  go  'mid  pagan  gloom 

To  spread  the  truth  victorious ; 

Thy  Spirit  send, 

Thy  word  attend, 
And  make  its  triumph  glorious. 


REPENTANCE  AT  THE   CROSS. 


And,  when  our  toils  are  done, 
Smooth  Thou  the  dying  pillow, 

O  bring  us  blest 

To  endless  rest, 
Safe  o'er  death's  troubled  billow! 

1834. 


REPENTANCE   AT  THE   CROSS. 

"  This  is  my  blood  of  the  New  Testament,  which  is  shed  for  many  for 
the  remission  of  sins.'1''  — MATT.  xxvi.  28. 

JESUS,  Lamb  of  God,  for  me 
Thou,  the  Lord  of  life,  didst  die ; 
Whither,  whither  but  to  Thee, 
Can  a  trembling  sinner  fly  ? 
Death's  dark  waters  o'er  me  roll, 
Save,  O  save,  my  sinking  soul ! 

Never  bowed  a  martyred  head, 
Weighed  with  equal  sorrow  down ; 

Never  blood  so  rich  was  shed, 
Never  king  wore  such  a  crown ! 

To  Thy  cross  and  sacrifice 

Faith  now  lifts  her  tearful  eyes. 

All  my  soul,  by  love  subdued, 
Melts  in  deep  contrition  there ; 

By  Thy  mighty  grace  renewed, 
New-born  hope  forbids  despair ; 

Lord,  Thou  canst  my  guilt  forgive, 

Thou  hast  bid  me  look  and  live. 


GOD'S  HIDDEN  ONES. 

While  with  broken  heart  I  kneel, 
Sinks  the  inward  storm  to  rest ; 

Life,  immortal  life,  I  feel 

Kindled  in  my  throbbing  breast ; 

Thine,  for  ever  Thine,  I  am, 

Glory  to  the  bleeding  Lamb ! 

1863. 


GOD'S   HIDDEN   ONES. 

1  In  the  time  of  trouble  fie  shall  hide  me  in  His  pavilion"  —  Ps.  xxvii   5. 

1  He  that  dwelleth  in  the  secret  place  of  the  Most  High  shall  abide  under 

the  shadow  of  the  Almighty."  —  Ps.  xci    i. 

TV  /TY  God,  within  Thy  secret  place 
•*•*•*•     Thou  all  Thine  own  dost  hide ; 
There,  sheltered  by  Thy  power  and  grace, 
They  in  Thy  peace  abide. 

•   Beneath  Thy  wing  and  near  Thy  heart, 

Eternal  Love,  they  rest ; 
No  foe  they  fear,  no  venomed  dart, 
With  Thee  secure  and  blest. 

Thanks,  thanks  that  Thou  my  wandering  feet 
•  Hast  led,  and  made  me  Thine ; 
That,  safe  within  this  dear  retreat, 
Thou  bidst  me  call  Thee  mine ! 

No  more  I  yield  to-  boding  fears, 

Since  in  Thine  arms  I  lie ; 
When  grief  would  drown  mine  eyes  in  tears, 

Those  tears  Thy  hand  shall  dry. 


SABBATH  MORNING. 

Let  thunders  shake  the  solid  ground, 

Serene  my  soul  shall  be ; 
Let  gloom  and  darkness  close  me  round, 

'Tis  ever  light  with  Thee ! 

O  more  and  more  my  soul  possess, 
Make  heart  and  will  Thine  own ; 

Enrobe  me  with  Thy  righteousness, 
And  in  me  reign  alone. 


1874. 


SABBATH   MORNING. 

"  A  day  in  Thy  courts  is  better  than  a  thousand."  —  Ps.  Ixxxiv.  10. 

'THHINE  holy  day's  returning 
•*•       Our  hearts  exult  to  see, 
And,  with  devotion  burning, 
Ascend,  our  God,  to  Thee. 

To-day  with  purest  pleasure, 

Our  thoughts  from  earth  withdraw ; 

We  search  for  sacred  treasure, 
We  learn  Thy  holy  law. 

We  join  to  sing  Thy  praises, 

God  of  the  Sabbath  day ! 
Each  voice  in  gladness  raises 

Its  loudest,  sweetest  lay. 

Thy  richest  mercies  sharing, 

O  fill  us  with  Thy  love ! 
By  grace  our  souls  preparing 

For  nobler  praise  above. 


1834- 


THE   TRANQUIL   HOUR. 


THE  DAY   OF  JOY. 

"  The  Lord  shall  be  thine  everlastitig  light,  and  the  days  of  thy  mourning 
shall  be  ended.'1'1  —  ISA.  Ix.  20. 

WAKE  thee,  O  Zion,  thy  mourning  is  ended ; 
God,  thine  own  God,  hath  regarded  thy  prayer ; 
Wake  thee,  and  hail  Him,  in  glory  descended, 
Thy  darkness  to  scatter,  thy  wastes  to  repair. 

Wake  thee,  O  Zion,  His  spirit  of  power 
To  newness  of  life  is  awaking  the  dead ; 
Array  thee  in  beauty,  and  greet  the  glad  hour 
That  brings  thee  salvation  through  Jesus  who  bled. 

Saviour,  we  gladly,  with  voices  resounding, 
Loud  as  the  thunder  our  chorus  would  swell ; 
Till  from  rock,  wood,  and  mountain  its  echoes  re 
bounding, 

To  all  the  wide  world  of  salvation  shall  tell. 

1834. 


THE   TRANQUIL   HOUR. 

"Return  unto  thy  rest,  O  my  soul."  —  Ps.  cxvi.  7. 

THOU,  Saviour,  from  Thy  throne  on  high, 
Enrobed  in  light  and  girt  with  power, 
Dost  note  the  thought,  the  prayer,  the  sigh 
Of  hearts  that  love  the  tranquil  hour. 

Oft  Thou  Thyself  didst  steal  away, 

At  eventide,  from  labor  done, 
In  some  still,  peaceful  shade  to  pray, 

Till  morning  watches  were  begun. 


EVENING    WORSHIP.         . 

Thou  hast  not,  dearest  Lord,  forgot 

Thy  wrestlings  on  Judea's  hills  ; 
And  still  Thou  lov'st  the  quiet  spot 

Where  praise  the  lowly  spirit  fills. 

Now  to  our  souls,  withdrawn  awhile 

From  earth's  rude  noise,  Thy  face  reveal ; 

And,  as  we  worship,  kindly  smile, 
And  for  Thine  own  our  spirits  seal. 

To  Thee  we  bring  each  grief  and  care, 

To  Thee  we  fly  while  tempests  lower ; 
Thou  wilt  the  weary  burdens  bear 

Of  hearts  that  love  the  tranquil  hour. 

1864. 


EVENING  WORSHIP. 

"/»  Thy  light  shall  we  see  light."  —  Ps.  xxxvi.  9. 

OTEALING  from  the  world  away, 
*~*     We  are  come  to  seek  Thy  face ; 
Kindly  meet  us,  Lord,  we  pray, 
Grant  us  Thy  reviving  grace. 

Yonder  stars  that  gild  the  sky 
Shine  but  with  a  borrowed  light ; 

We,  unless  Thy  light  be  nigh, 
Wander,  wrapt  in  gloomy  night. 

Sun  of  Righteousness,  dispel 

All  our  darkness,  doubts,  and  fears ; 

May  Thy  light  within  us  dwell, 
Till  eternal  day  appears. 


THE   UNITY  OF  LOVE. 

Warm  our  hearts  in  prayer  and  praise, 

Lift  our  every  thought  above ; 
Hear  the  grateful  songs  we  raise, 

Fill  us  with  Thy  perfect  love. 

1834. 


THE  UNITY   OF   LOVE. 

"  Having  loved  His  awn  which  were  in  the  world,  He  laved  them  unto 

the  end." — JOHN  xiii.  i. 
"  That  they  all  may  be  one."  —  JOHN  xvii.  21. 

T    ORD,  Thou  on  earth  didst  love  Thine  own, 
••-*     Didst  love  them  to  the  end; 
O  still  from  Thy  celestial  throne, 
Let  gifts  of  love  descend. 

The  love  the  Father  bears  to  Thee, 

His  own  eternal  Son, 
Fill  all  Thy  saints,  till  all  shall  be 

In  pure  affection  one. 

As  Thou  for  us  didst  stoop  so  low, 

Warmed  by  love's  holy  flame, 
So  let  our  deeds  of  kindness  flow 

To  all  who  bear  Thy  name. 

One  blessed  fellowship  of  love, 
Thy  living  Church  should  stand, 

Till,  faultless,  she  at  last  above 
Shall  shine  at  Thy  right  hand. 


THE  DAYSPRING. 

O  glorious  day  when  she,  the  Bride, 
With  her  dear  Lord  appears ! 

When  robed  in  beauty  at  His  side, 
She  shall  forget  her  tears. 


1864. 


THE   DAYSPRING. 

"  Through  the  tender  mercy  of  our  God ;  whereby  the  dayspring from  on 
high  hath  visited  us."  —  LUKE  i.  78. 

"D  EFORE  Thy  throne  with  tearful  eyes, 
*—*     My  gracious  Lord,  I  humbly  fall ; 
To  Thee  my  weary  spirit  flies, 
For  Thy  forgiving  love  I  call. 

I  know  Thy  mercy  overflows, 
When  sinners  on  Thy  grace  rely; 

Thy  tender  love  no  limit  knows  ; 
O  save  me,  —  justly  doomed  to  die! 

Yes,  Thou  wilt  save ;  my  soul  is  free ! 

The  gloom  of  sin  is  fled  away ; 
My  tongue  breaks  forth  in  praise  to  Thee, 

And  all  my  powers  Thy  word  obey. 

Hence,  while  I  wrestle  with  my  foes,  — 
The  world,  the  flesh,  the  hosts  of  hell,  — 

Sustain  Thou  me  till  conflicts  close, 

Then  endless  songs  my  thanks  shall  tell. 

1834. 


ALONE    WITH  CHRIST. 


ALONE  WITH   CHRIST. 

"  Iivill  not  leave  you  comfortless  :  I  will  come  to  you."  —  JOHN  xiv.  18. 

A  LONE  with  Thee  !     Alone  with  Thee ! 
•^*-         O  Friend  divine  ! 
Thou  Friend  of  friends  to  me  most  dear, 
Though  all  unseen  I  feel  Thee  near, 
And  with  the  love  that  knows  no  fear, 
I  call  Thee  mine. 

Alone  with  Thee!     Alone  with  Thee ! 

Now  through  my  breast 
There  steals  a  breath  like  breath  of  balm, 
That  healing  brings  and  holy  calm, 
1*hat  soothes  like  chanted  song  or  psalm, 

And  makes  me  blest. 

Alone  with  Thee  !     Alone  with  Thee ! 

Thy  grace  more  sweet 
Than  music  in  the  twilight  still, 
Than  airs  that  groves  of  spices  fill, 
More  fresh  than  dews  on  Hermon's  hill, 

My  soul  doth  .greet. 

Alone  with  Thee !     Alone  with  Thee ! 

In  Thy  pure  light 

The  splendid  pomps  and  shows  of  time, 
The  tempting  steeps  that  pride  would  climb, 
The  peaks  where  glory  rests  sublime, 

Pale  on  my  sight. 


THE  HEAVENLY  REST. 

Alone  with  Thee !     Alone  with  Thee  ! 

My  softened  heart 
Floats  on  the  flood  of  love  divine, 
Feels  all  its  wishes  drowned  in  Thine, 
Content  that  every  good  is  mine 

Thou  canst  impart. 

Alone-  with  Thee  !     Alone  with  Thee ! 

I  want  no  more 

To  make  my  earthly  bliss  complete, 
Than  oft  my  Lord  unseen  to  meet ; 
For  sight  I  wait  till  tread  my  feet 

Yon  glistering  shore. 

Alone  with  Thee !     Alone  with  Thee ! 

There  not  alone, 

But  with  all  saints,  the  mighty  throng, 
My  soul  unfettered,  pure  and  strong, 
Her  high  communings  shall  prolong, 

Before  Thy  throne. 

1867. 


THE  HEAVENLY   REST. 

"  For  the  Lamb  which  is  in  the  midst  of  the  throne  shall  feed  them,  and  shall 
lead  them  unto  living  fountains  of  -waters :  and  God  shall  wipe  away 
all  tears  from  their  eyes."  —  REV.  vii.  17. 

A  ND  is  there,  Lord,  a  rest, 
*•*:     For  weary  souls  designed, 
Where  not  a  care  shall  stir  the  breast, 
Or  sorrow  entrance  find  ? 


THE  HEAVENLY  REST. 

Is  there  a  blissful  home, 

Where  kindred  minds  shall  meet, 
And  live  and  love,  nor  ever  roam 

From  that  serene  retreat  ? 


Are  there  bright,  happy  fields, 

Where  nought  that  blooms  shall  die  ; 

Where  each  new  scene  fresh  pleasure  yields, 
And  healthful  breezes  sigh  ? 

Are  there  celestial  streams, 

Where  living  waters  glide, 
With  murmurs  sweet  as  angel  dreams, 

And  flowery  banks  beside  ? 

For  ever  blessed  they,         , 

Whose  joyful  feet  shall  stand, 
While  endless  ages  waste  away, 

Amid  that  glorious  land  ! 

My  soul  would  thither  tend, 

While  toilsome  years  are  given  ; 
Then  let  me,  gracious  God,  ascend 

To  sweet  repose  in  heaven ! 

1843. 


THE  RESURRECTION. 
THE   RESURRECTION. 

1  Jesus  said,  .  .  .  I  am  the  resurrection  and  the  life.'1''  —  JOHN  xi.  25. 


A  \  7HEN  downward  to  the  darksome  tomb 
*  *       I  thoughtful  turn  my  eyes, 

Frail  nature  trembles  at  the  gloom, 
And  anxious  fears  arise. 


Why  shrinks  my  soul  ?     In  death's  embrace 

Once  Jesus  captive  slept ; 
And  angels,  hovering  o'er  the  place, 

His  lowly  pillow  kept. 

Thus  shall  they  guard  my  sleeping  dust, 

And,  as  the  Saviour  rose, 
The  grave  again  shall  yield  her  trust, 

And  end  my  deep  repose. 

My  Lord,  before  to  glory  gone, 

Shall  bid  me  come  away ;  . 
And  calm  and  bright  shall  break  the  dawn 

Of  heaven's  eternal  day. 

Then  let  my  faith  each  fear  dispel, 

And  gild  with  light  the  grave ; 
To  Him  my  loftiest  praises  swell, 

Who  died  from  death  to  save. 

1842. 


THE  FATHERS  HOUSE. 


THE   FATHER'S  HOUSE. 


1  In  my  Father's  house  are  many  mansions.  .  .  .  I  go  to  prepare  a  place 
for  you."  —  JOHN  xiv.  2. 


r  I  ^HY  Father's  house !    Thine  own  bright  home ! 
•*-       And  Thou  hast  there  a  place  for  me ! 
Though  yet  an  exile  here  I  roam, 
That  distant  home  by  faith  I  see. 

• 

I  see  its  domes  resplendent  glow, 

Where  beams  of  God's  own  glory  fall ; 

And  trees  of  life  immortal  grow, 

Whose  fruits  o'erhang  the  sapphire  wall. 

I  know  that  Thou,  who  on  the  tree 
Didst  deign  our  mortal  guilt  to  bear, 

Wilt  bring  Thine  own  to  dwell  with  Thee, 
And  waitest  to  receive  me  there. 

Thy  love  will  there  array  my  soul 

In  Thine  own  robe  of  spotless  hue ; 
And  I  shall  gaze  while  ages  roll, 

On  Thee,  with  raptures  ever  new. 

O  welcome  day !  when  Thou  my  feet 

Shalt  bring  the  shining  threshold  o'er ; 
A  Father's  warm  embrace  to  meet, 

And  dwell  at  home  forevermore. 

1864. 


JESUS  THE  ALL  IN  ALL. 


JESUS  THE   ALL  IN   ALL. 

1  Looking  unto  Jesus  the  author  and  finisher  of  our  faith.'1''  —  HEB.  xii.  2. 

WHEN  inward  turns  my  searching  gaze, 
And  stains  of  sin  deep  fixed  I  see, 
When  doubt  and  fear  my  soul  amaze, 

0  Jesus,  come  to  comfort  me. 

When  heavenward,  o'er  the  flinty  way, 

1  tread  with  faltering  feet  and  sore, 
And  need  some  arm  of  strength  to  stay, 

O  Jesus,  help  me  evermore. 

When  faded,  like  autumnal  leaves, 

My  heart's  best  hopes  all  withered  lie, 

And  o'er  the  lost  for  earth  it  grieves, 
O  Jesus,  wipe  the  tearful  eye. 

When  in  the  still  retreat  I  kneel, 

To  tell  Thee  all  I  hope  or  fear, 
Let  no  thick  cloud  Thy  face  conceal : 

O  Jesus,  lend  a  listening  ear. 

When  glows  with  joy  my  throbbing  heart, 
And  light  and  gladness  round  me  fall, 

The  sunshine  of  Thy  smile  impart, 
O  Jesus,  brightest,  best  of  all ! 


THE  PLACE  OF  PRAYER. 

When  springs  my  glad,  unfettered  soul, 

To  seek  her  home  beyond  the  spheres, 
Thee  will  I  praise  while  ages  roll, 

O  Jesus,  mine  to  endless  years. 

1868. 


THE  PLACE  OF   PRAYER. 


"  Enter  into  thy  closet,  and  when  thou  hast  shttt  thy  door,  pray  to  thy 
Father  which  is  in  secret.'1''  —  MATT.  vi.  6. 


O 


EVER  sacred  spot, 
Where  clamor  cometh  not, 
Where  earth  may  be  forgot, 
And  peaceful  stillness  undisturbed  may  reign ; 
.1  joy  that  I  may  know 
Such  holy  calm  below, 
Nor  feel  life's  restless  flow, 
When  Thy  sweet  solitude  well  pleased  I  gain. 

While  lowly  here  I  kneel, 

My  God,  Thy  love  reveal, 

And  give  Thy  child  to  feel 
A  Father's  blessing  falling  on  his  head ; 

I  see  Thy  smile  benign, 

I  hear  Thee  call  me  Thine, 

For  Thee  I  all  resign, 
And  evermore  would  by  Thy  will  be  led. 

Hither,  O  Christ,  I  flee, 
That  I  by  faith  may  see 
Thy  face  unveiled  to  me, 


SPIRITUAL  REFRESHING. 

And  all  the  secrets  of  my  heart  may  tell ; 
May  lean  upon  Thy  breast, 
Lull  all  my  fears  to  rest, 
And  — joy  of  joys  the  best  — 

Hear  Thy  loved  voice  known  to  my  soul  so  well. 

Tell  Thou  my  longing  heart, 
Dear  Lord,  that  mine  Thou  art ; 
Then  all  afresh  shall  start 

The  tears  of  grateful  tenderness  and  love ; 
Give  me  that  precious  stone 
That  bears  a  name  unknown, 
The  pledge  that  Thou  wilt  own, 

And  make  me  to  behold  Thy  face  above. 

Oft  as  I  enter  here, 

Great  Comforter,  be  near, 

My  wrestling  soul  to  cheer, 
Let  Thy  best  gifts  and  graces  all  be  mine ; 

In  Thine  own  perfect  light, 

O  give  me  visions  bright 

Of  things  beyond  my  sight ; 
Fill  my  whole  being  with  the  life  divine ! 


1866. 


SPIRITUAL   REFRESHING. 

1 1  will  pour  my  Spirit  upon  thy  seed,  and  my  blessing  upon  thine 
offspring."  —  ISA.  xliv.  3. 

T^OUNT  of  everlasting  love, 

Rich  thy  streams  of  mercy  are  ; 
Flowing  purely  from  above,      . 
Beauty  marks  their  course  afar. 


LIFE  FROM  THE  DYING   CHRIST. 

Lo  !  Thy  church,  athirst  and  faint, 

Drinks  the  full,  refreshing  tide ; 
Thou  hast  heard  her  sad  complaint, 

Floods  of  grace  are  sweeping  wide. 

God  of  mercy,  to  Thy  throne, 

Now  our  fervent  thanks  we  bring ; 

Thine  the  glory,  Thine  alone, 
Joyous  praise  to  Thee  we  sing. 

While  we  lift  our  grateful  song, 

Let  the  Spirit  still  descend ; 
Roll  the  tide  of  grace  along, 

Widening,  deepening,  to  the  end. 

1831. 


LIFE   FROM   THE   DYING   CHRIST. 

"  Hive  by  the  faith  of  the  Son  of  God,  ivho  loved  me,  and  gave  Himself  for 
me."  —  GAL.  ii.  20. 

"\Tt7OULDST  thou  eternal  life  obtain, 

Now  to  the  cross  repair ; 
There  stand  and  gaze,  and  weep  and  pray, 
Where  Jesus  breathes  His  life  away ; 
Eternal  life  is  there. 

Go,  —  'tis  the  Son  of  God  expires ! 

Approach  the  shameful  tree ; 
See  quivering  there  the  mortal  dart, 
In  the  Redeemer's  loving  heart, 

O  sinful  soul,  for  thee ! 


CHRIST  IN  THE  STORM. 

Go,  —  there  from  every  streaming  wound 

Flows  rich  atoning  blood : 
That  blood  can  cleanse  the  deepest  stain, 
Bid  frowning  justice  smile  again, 

And  seal  thy  peace  with  God. 


Go !  at  that  cross  thy  heart  subdued, 

With  thankful  love  shall  glow ; 
By  wondrous  grace  thy  soul  set  free, 
Eternal  life  from  Christ  to  thee 

A  vital  stream  shall  flow ! 

1864. 


CHRIST   IN   THE   STORM. 

;  And  He  arote,  and  rebuked  the  -wind,  and  said  unto  the  sea,  Peace,  be 
still.'1''  —  MARK  iv.  39. 

A  MID  the  darkness,  when  the  storm 
•^•V    Swept  fierce  and  wild  o'er  Galilee, 
Was  seen  of  old,  dear  Lord,  Thy  form, 

All  calmly  walking  on  the  sea ; 
And  raging  elements  were  still, 
Obedient  to  Thy  sovereign  will. 

So  on  life's  restless,  heaving  wave, 

When  night  and  storm  my  sky  6'ercast, 

Oft  hast  Thou  come  to  cheer  and  save, 
Hast  changed  my  fear  to  joy  at  last ; 

Thy  voice  hath  bid  the  tumult  cease, 

And  soothed  my  throbbing  heart  to  peace. 
6 


FATHER,   LEAD   ON. 

But,  ah  !  too  soon  my  fears  return, 
And  dark  mistrust  disturbs  anew ; 

What  smothered  fires  within  yet  burn  ! 
My  days  of  peace,  alas,  how  few ! 

These  heart-throes,  —  shall  they  ne'er  be  past  ? 

These  strifes,  —  shall  they  for  ever  last  ? 

I  heed  not  danger,  toil,  nor  pain, 

Care  not  how  hard  the  storm  may  beat, 

If  in  my  heart  Thy  peace  may  reign, 
And  faith  and  patience  keep  their  seat ; 

If  strength  divine  may  nerve  my  soul, 

And  love  my  every  thought  control. 

O  may  that  voice  that  quelled  the  sea, 
And  laid  the  surging  waves  to  rest, 

Speak  in  my  spirit,  set  me  free 

From  passions  that  disturb  my  breast ; 

Jesus,  I  yield  me  to  Thy  will, 

And  wait  to  hear  Thy  "  Peace,  be  still !  " 

1867. 

FATHER,   LEAD   ON. 

"  0  my  Father,  if  this  cup  may  not  pass  away  from  me,  except  I  drink  it, 
Thy  -will  be  done."  —  MATT.  xxvi.  42. 

"IV /TY  Father  God,  lead  on  ! 
**•*•  Calmly  I  follow  where  Thy  guiding  hand 
Directs  my  steps.     I  would  not  trembling  stand. 

Though  all  before  the  way 

Is  dark  as  night,  I  stay 

My  soul  on  Thee,  and  say  — 
Father,  I  trust  Thy  love ;  lead  on. 


.-     FATHER,    LEAD   ON. 

Just  as  Thou  wilt :  lead  on  ! 
For  I  am  as  a  child,  and  know  not  how 
To  tread  the  starless  path  whose  windings  now 
Lie  hid  from  mortal  ken. 
Although  I  know  not  when 
Sweet  day  will  dawn  again, 
Father,  I  wait  Thy  will ;  lead  on. 

I  ask  not  why :  lead  on  ! 
Mislead  Thou  canst  not.     Though  through  days  of 

grief 

And  nights  of  anguish,  pangs  without  relief, 
Or  fears  that  would  o'erthrow 
My  faith,  Thou  bidst  me  go, 
Thy  changeless  love,  I  know, 
Father,  my  soul  will  keep :  lead  on. 

With  Thee  is  light :  lead  on  ! 
When  dank  and  chill  at  eve  the  night-mists  fall, 
O'erhanging  all  things  like  a  dismal  pall, 
The  gloom,  with  dawn,  hath  fled  ; 
So,  though  'mid  shades  I  tread, 
The  dayspring  o'er  my  .head, 
Father,  from  Thee  shall  break  :  lead  on. 

Thy  way  is  peace  :  lead  on  ! 
Made  heir  of  all  things,  I  were  yet  unblest 
Didst  Thou  not  dwell  with  me  and  make  me  rest 
Beneath  the  brooding  wing 
That  Thou  dost  o'er  me  fling, 
Till  Thou  Thyself  shalt  bring, 
Father,  my  spirit  home  :  lead  on. 


MY  BELOVED  IS  MINE  A 

Thou  givest  strength  :  lead  on  ! 
I  cannot  sink  while  Thy  right  hand  upholds, 
Nor  comfort  lack  while  Thy  kind  arm  enfolds. 
Through  all  my  soul  I  feel 
A  healing  influence  steal, 
While  at  Thy  feet  I  kneel, 
Father,  in  lowly  trust :  lead  on. 

i       'Twill  soon  be  o'er  :  lead  on  ! 

Left  all  behind,  earth's  heart-aches  then  shall  seem 

E'en  as  the  memories  of  a  vanished  dream ; 

And  when  of  griefs  and  tears 
*       The  golden  fruit  appears, 

Amid  the  eternal  years, 
Father,  all  thanks  be  Thine  !     Lead  on ! 

1873- 


MY   BELOVED   IS   MINE. 

"  I  am  my  Beloved's  and  my  Beloved  is  mine.'1''  —  SONG  OF  SOL.  vi.  3. 


J 


ESUS,  this  heart  within  me  burns 
To  tell  Thee  all  its  conscious  love ; 

And  from  earth's  low  delights  it  turns, 
To  taste  a  joy  like  that  above. 

When  Thou  to  meet  me  dost  descend, 
In  love  divine,  thou  blessed  One, 

The  moments  that  with  Thee  I  spend 
Seem  e'en  as  heaven  itself  begun. 


THE    VICTORY  OF  FAITH. 

Though  oft  these  lips  my  love  have  told, 
They  still  the  story  would  repeat ; 

To  me  the  rapture  ne'er  grows  old 
That  thrills  me,  bending  at  Thy  feet. 

I  breathe  my  words  into  Thine  ear ; 

I  seem  to  fix  my  eyes  on  Thine ; 
-And  sure  that  Thou  dost  wait  to  hear, 

I  dare  in  faith  to  call  Thee  mine. 


Reign  thou  sole  Sovereign  of  my  heart ! 

My  all  I  yield  to  Thy  control ; 
O  let  me  never  from  Thee  part, 

Thou  best  Beloved  of  my  soul ! 

•  1868. 


THE   VICTORY    OF    FAITH. 


'Thanks  be  to  God,  -which  giveth  us  the  victory,  through  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ"  —  i  COR.  xv.  57. 


V\  7"HY  should  these  eyes  be  tearful 

For  years  too  swiftly  fled  ? 
And  why  these  feet  be  fearful 

The  onward  path  to  tread  ? 
Why  should  a  chill  come  o'er  me 

At  thoughts  of  death  as  near  ? 
Or  when  I  see  before  me 

The  silent  gates  appear  ? 


THE    VICTORY  OF  FAITH. 

Behold  my  Saviour  dying ! 

I  hear  his  parting  breath  ; 
Entombed  I  see  Him  lying, 

A  captive  held  of  death  ; 
Yet  peacefully  He  sleepeth, 

No  foe  disturbs  Hirn  now, 
And  love  divine  still  keepeth 

Its  impress  on  His  brow. 

But  lo !  the  seal  is  broken  ! 

Rolled  back  the  mighty  stone ; 
In -vain  was  set  the  token 

That  friend  and  foe  should  own  ; 
The  weeping  Mary  bending, 

Sees  not  her  Saviour  there ; 
But  sons  of  light  attending, 

A  joyful  message  bear. 

The  Lord  is  risen  !     He  liveth, 

The  first-born  from  the  dead  ; 
To  Him  the  Father  giveth 

To  be  creation's  head  ; 
O'er  all  for  ever  reigning, 

Of  death  He  holds  the  keys, 
And  hell,  His  might  constraining, 

Obeys  His  high  decrees. 

Flies  now  the  gloom  that  shaded 
The  vale  of  death  to  me  ; 

The  terrors  that  invaded 
Are  lost,  O  Christ,  in  Thee ! 


THE   CONSENTING  HEART. 

The  grave,  no  more  appalling, 
Invites  me  to  repose  ; 

Asleep  in  Jesus  falling, 
To  rise  as  Jesus  rose. 


O  when  to  life  awaking, 

The  night  for  ever  gone, 
My  soul,  this  dust  forsaking, 

Puts  incorruption  on  ; 
Lord,  in  Thy  lustre  shining, 

In  Thine  own  beauty  drest, 
My  sun  no  more  declining, 

Thy  service  be  my  rest ! 

1867. 


THE  CONSENTING   HEART. 


Come  unto  me,  all  ye  that  labor  and  are  heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you 
rest."  — MATT.  xi.  28. 


~V7"ES,  kind  Saviour,  grieving 

O'er  the  sad  past, 
All  my  vain  hopes  leaving, 
Come  I  at  last ; 

Thine,  Thine  I  am, 
O  bleeding  Lamb ! 
To  Thy  heart  receiving, 
Hold  Thou  me  fast. 


THE   CONSENTING  HEART. 

On  Thy  word  relying, 

Safe  let  me  rest, 
All  my  tears  now  drying 
On  Thy  dear  breast  ; 
Dawns  the  sweet  day, 
Bright  o'er  my  way, 
Foes  and  fears  all  flying, 
Here  I  am  blest. 


All  my  footsteps  heeding, 

Shield  me  from  ill, 
In  green  pastures  feeding, 
By  waters  still  ; 
Always  with  Thee, 
Lord,  let  me  be  ; 
Thou  all  kindly  leading, 
Thine  be  my  will. 

When  —  life's  last  day  ending 

Dark  death  is  nigh, 
Jesus,  o'er  me  bending, 
Note  my  last  sigh  ; 
In  that  dread  hour, 
Strong  in  Thy  power, 
On  swift  wing  ascending, 
Home  let  me  fly  ! 


THE   VISION  OF  CHRIST. 


THE  VISION   OF  CHRIST. 


'Now  we  see  through  a  glass,  darkly  ;  &u(  then  face  to  face. 
i  COR.  xiii.  12. 


O  CHRIST,  I  long  to  know  Thee 
As  Thou  art  known  above ; 
Long,  face  to  face,  to  show  Thee, 

In  faultless  praise,  my  love  ; 
But  Thou  Thyself  now  hidest 

Beyond  my  feeble  sense, 
Though  all  my  steps  Thou  guidest, 
Thine  arm  my  sure  defence. 

O'erpowering  is  the  splendor 

About  the  unveiled  throne  ; 
Where  bright  archangels  render 

A  service  all  their  own ; 
That  glory  sight  confounding, 

Those  wonders  rich  and  rare, 
The  anthems  high  resounding, 

This  mortal  could  not  bear. 

Yet,  Lord,  to  see  Thee,  pining, 

In  thought  I  oft  ascend, 
And  where  Thy  hosts  are  shining, 

I,  too,  before  Thee  bend ; 
As  one  in  rapture  dreaming, 

Celestial  bliss  I  feel, 
And  in  that  moment's  seeming 

Glow  with  a  seraph's  zeal. 


THE  PILGRIM  FATHERS. 

When  from  this  dream  awaking, 

A  weary  pilgrim  still, 
Sloth  from  my  spirit  shaking, 

With  fixed,  unfaltering  will, 
My  soul,  in  courage  stronger, 

Holds  on  her  toilsome  way, 
Content  to  watch  yet  longer, 

Till  dawns  the  wished-for  day. 


THE   PILGRIM  FATHERS. 

THIS  hymn  was  written,  by  request,  for  the  service  commemorative  of  the  t\\o 
hundred  and  fiftieth  anniversary  of  the  landing  of  the  Pilgrims  at  Plymouth.  The 
meeting  was  held  in  the  Tremont  Temple,  Hoston,  on  the  evening  of  Dec.  22,  i?/o  ; 
and  the  hymn  was  sung  to  original  music  furnished  by  Mr.  S.  M.  DOWNS  of  tliat  cily. 

"  The  Lord  '  saith,  .  .  .  them  that  honor  me  I  will  honor"  —  i  SAM.  11.30. 


as  the  rock  beneath  their  feet, 
The  saintly  Pilgrims  stood  ; 
On  Thee,  O  God,  their  trust  was  stayed, 
Thy  voice  their  steadfast  souls  obeyed, 
And  Thou  didst  answer  when  they  prayed 

Beside  the  wintry  flood  ; 
Didst  give  them  strength,  in  faith  sublime, 
To  work  the  noblest  work  of  time. 

To-day  by  centuries  we  count 
The  slowly  measured  years  : 
And,  lo  !  wide  o'er  a  smiling  land, 
Fair  homes  and  sacred  temples  stand  ; 


THE  PILGRIM  FATHERS. 

Where  frowned  rude  wastes  and  forests  grand, 

A  peopled  realm  appears  ; 
O'er  hills  and  plains,  from  sea  to  sea, 
Sweep  thronging  millions  of  the  free ! 

Tears  for  the  days  of  deadly  strife,  — 

Tears  for  the  young  and  brave, 
Who,  fired  by  Freedom's  battle-cry, 
Flung  broad  her  banner  to  the  sky, 
Content  on  gory  fields  to  lie, 

That  they  her  home  might  save  ; 
That  chains  from  every  hand  might  fall, 
And  Love's  wide  arms  encircle  all. 

As  Thou  didst  hear,  O  faithful  God, 

The  prayer  our  Fathers  said ; 
So  hear  us  while,  like  them,  to  Thee, 
We  for  our  children  bend  the  knee ; 
Let  them  to  distant  ages  be 

As  if  the  Pilgrims,  dead, 
In  them  did  wake  and  live  again, 
Their  shields  the  shields  of  mighty  men  ! 

O  Christ,  be  Thine  the  Pilgrims'  land ! 

Reign  Thou  from  shore  to  shore ; 
Here  let  Thy  church  beneath  Thy  sway, 
Grow  fairer  till  her  bridal  day, 
When  Thou  shalt  come  in  glad  array, 

Her  Lord,  —  as  mountains  o'er, 
In  splendors  robed,  the  morning  sun 
Ascends  his  flaming  course  to  run. 


DEDICATORY  HYMN. 

Praise  God  !  praise  Him  who  changeth  not ! 

Our  Fathers'  God,  and  ours ; 
To  Thee  our  thankful  praise  we  bring, 
Ancient  of  Days  !     Our  glorious  King  ! 
Let  earth  and  heaven  together  sing 

With  all  their  raptured  powers ; 
Till  listening  stars  shall  catch  the  strain, 

And  shout  the  chorus  back  amain ! 

1872. 


THE   DEDICATION   OF  A  CHURCH. 


"And  above  the  firmament  that  was  aver  their  heads  mas  the  likeness  of  a 
throne,  as  the  appearance  of  a  sapphire  stone  ;  and  ufon  the  likeness 
of  the  throtie  was  the  likeness  as  the  appearance  of  a  man  above  tipon 
it."  —  EZEK.  i.  26. 


,  Jesus,  from  the  sapphire  throne, 
Where  Thy  redeemed  behold  Thy  face, 
Enter  this  temple,  now  Thine  own, 
And  let  Thy  glory  fill  the  place. 

We  praise  Thee  that  to-day  we  see 
Its  sacred  walls  before  Thee  stand  ; 

'Tis  Thine  for  us,  —  'tis  ours  for  Thee; 
Reared  by  Thy  kind,  assisting  hand. 

Oft  as  returns  the  day  of  rest, 

Let  heartfelt  worship  here  ascend  ; 

With  Thine  own  joy  fill  every  breast, 

With  Thine  own  power  Thy  word  attend. 


INFANT  BAPTISM. 

Here,  in  the  dark  and  sorrowing  day, 
Bid  Thou  the  throbbing  heart  be  still ; 

O  wipe  the  mourner's  tears  away, 

And  give  new  strength  to  meet  Thy  will. 

When  round  this  board  Thine  own  sha'l  meet, 

And  keep  the  feast  of  dying  love, 
Be  our  communion  ever  sweet, 

With  Thee,  and  with  Thy  church  above. 

Come,  faithful  Shepherd,  feed  Thy  sheep ; 

In  Thine  own  arms  the  lambs  enfold ; 
Give  help  to  climb  the  heavenward  steep, 

Till  Thy  full  glory  we  behold. 

'875- 


INFANT   BAPTISM. 

"  And  they  brought  unto  Him  also  infants."  —  LUKE  xviii.  15. 

"V\  7E  praise  Thee,  Saviour,  for  the  grace 

*  *       That  bids  us  with  our  infants  come ; 
That  gives  them  in  Thy  heart  a  place, 
And  in  Thy  kingdom  grants  them  room. 

We  bring  them  to  Thine  altar,  Lord, 

And  here  the  holy  seal  apply ; 
O  make  them  clean,  —  their  names  record 

In  Thine  own  Book  of  Life  on  high. 

When  storms  shall  beat,  or  gathering  foes 
Beset  the  path  their  feet  must  tread, 

Dear  Shepherd,  let  Thine  arms  enclose,  . 
Or  o'er  them  for  defence  be  spread.  • 


THE  LAMB  ENTHRONED. 

If  Thou  hast  marked  them  for  the  tomb, 
Ere  morning  brightens  into  day, 

As  in  Thy  bosom  bear  them  home, 
And  gently  wipe  our  tears  away. 

Or  if  when  gathered  to  Thy  rest, 

'Tis  ours  to  leave  them  pilgrims  still, 

Guide  Thou  their  steps  till  with  us  blest, 
They  reach  Thine  Everlasting  Hill. 


1864. 


THE   LAMB    ENTHRONED. 

1  And  (o,  in  the  midst  of  the  throne  .  .  .  stood  a  Lamb  as  it  had  been 
slain.'"  —  REV.  v.  6. 

SON  of  God,  who  'midst  the  throne 
Standest  as  the  Lamb  once  slain, 
Never  in  their  need  Thine  own 
Lift  their  eyes  to  Thee  in  vain. 

Thou  hast  set  our  spirits  free, 

While  before  Thy  cross  we  knelt ; 
Thou  hast  drawn  our  hearts  to  Thee, 

While  Thy  wondrous  love  we  felt. 

• 

Now  with  fervent  thanks  we  come, 
All  to  Thee  our  Lord  we  give ; 

From  Thee  never  would  we  roam, 
With  Thee  ever  would  we  live. 

When  our  hearts  with  gladness  beat, 
When  our  paths  with  sunshine  glow, 

Be  Thy  love  than  all  more  sweet, 
Be  Thy  smile  as  heaven  below. 


THE  INSPIRING   SPIRIT. 

Should  we  strive  'mid  doubts  and  fears, 

Be  Thy  help  not  long  delayed  ; 
From  our  eyes,  when  dimmed  with  tears, 

Chase  away  grief's  darksome  shade. 

Lead  us  daily  by  Thy  grace, 

Till  these  years  of  earth  are  sped ; 

Then  unveil  to  us  Thy  face, 
Thou  that  livest  and  wast  dead ! 

DOXOLOGY. 

Praise  to  God  the  Father  give, 

Praise  the  Lamb  that  once  was  slain, 

Praise  the  Spirit,  all  that  live, 
Triune  God,  for  ever  reign  ! 

18/5- 


THE   INSPIRING   SPIRIT. 

Holy  men  of  God  spake  as  they  were  moved  by  the  Holy  Ghost.''1  • 
2  PETER  i.  21. 

SPIRIT  of  the  living  God, 

Effulgence  of  the  Eternal  One, 
Where'er  Thy  splendor  streams  abroad, 
It  cheers  and  gladdens  like  the  sun. 

Thine  was  the  light  in  days  of  old, 

When  raptured  prophets  saw  and  spoke  ; 

What  wonders  did  their  eyes  behold ! 
What  glories  on  their  vision  broke ! 


THE   CLOSING   YEAR. 

They  were  but  ministers  of  Thine, 

When  glowed  their  lips  with  sacred  fire ; 

And  Thou  through  thern  on  us  didst  shine, 
When  Thou  didst  all  their  thoughts  inspire.  . 

Theirs  was  the  voice,  the  truth  Thine  own, 
When  love's  great  mystery,  long  concealed, 

To  unborn  ages  was  made  known 
In  their  illumined  souls  revealed. 

'Twas  taught  of  Thee  that  holy  men 
Wrote  the  full  page  of  Jesus'  grace ; 

And  Thou  didst  guide  each  faithful  pen, 
The  record  of  His  love  to  trace. 

O  blessed  Book  !     O  Word  divine ! 

'Tis  God  the  Spirit  speaks  in  Thee ; 
And  I  will  make  Thy  wisdom  mine, 

Till  in  heaven's  perfect  day  I  see. 

i874. 


THE  CLOSING   YEAR. 

Thou  crcnvnest  the  year  with  Thy  goodness."  —  Ps.  Ixv.  I  r. 

r  I^HOU  who  roll'st  the  year  around, 
•*•     Crowned  with  mercies  large  and  free, 
Rich  Thy  gifts  to  us  abound, 

Warm  our  thanks  shall  rise  to  Thee : 
Kindly  to  our  worship  bow, 

While  our  grateful  praises  swell, 
That,  sustained  by  Thee,  we  now 

Bid  the  parting  year  farewell. 


THE  REST  OF  FAITH. 

All  its  numbered  days  are  sped, 

All  its  busy  scenes  are  o'er,    , 
All  its  joys  for  ever  fled, 

All  its  sorrows  felt  no  more : 
Mingled  with  th'  eternal  past, 

Its  remembrance  shall  decay, 
Yet  to  be  revived  at  last, 

At  the  solemn  judgment  day. 

All  our  follies,  Lord,  forgive ; 

Cleanse  each  heart  and  make  us  Thine ; 
Let  Thy  grace  within  us  live, 

As  our  future  suns  decline ; 
Then  when  life's  last  eve  shall  come, 

Happy  spirits  let  us  fly 
To  our  everlasting  home, 

To  our  Father's  house  on  high. 

1832. 


THE  REST  OF   FAITH. 

''''Happy  is  he  that  hath  the  God  of  Jacob  for  his  help."  —  Ps.  cxlvi.  5. 

T    ORD,  I  would  heavenward  ever  press, 
J—/     In  Thee  alone,  my  Helper,  strong ; 
Through  blooming  vale  and  wilderness 
Alike,  be  Thou  my  joy  and  song. 

When  tempests  darken  o'er  my  way, 
And  winds  are  raging  fierce  and  wild, 

In  humble  trust  my  soul  shall  say : 
O  God,  my  Father,  keep  Thy  child ! 

7 


GETHSEMANE. 

Why  should  I  e'er  distrust  Thy  care, 
Though  troubles  all  my  steps  beset  ? 

Why  with  sad  heart  my  burdens  bear, 
And  all  Thy  faithful  love  forget  ? 

That  love  through  many  a  year  hath  led 
From  scene  to  scene  my  pilgrim  feet ; 

Hath  daily,  as  with  manna,  fed, 
And  shown  me  fountains  pure  and  sweet. 

A  thousand  sacred  memories  rise 

Of  mercies  that  the  days  have  crowned, 

When  o'er  me  spread  unclouded  skies, 
And  light  and  gladness  smiled  around. 

My  faith  shall  on  Thy  promise  rest, 

That  Thou  my  stay  and  strength  wilt  be ; 

If  Thou  but  fold  me  to  Thy  breast, 
No  foe  shall  rend  my  soul  from  Thee. 

Forgiveness,  peace,  and  life  divine, 

Through  Christ's  dear  cross  Thy  grace  hath 

given ; 
And  Thou,  I  know,  wilt  call  me  Thine, 

When  breaks  the  blessed  morn  of  heaven  ! 

1874. 

GETHSEMANE. 

Then  cometh  Jesus  with  them  unto  a  place  called  Get/esemane."  — 
MATT.  xxvi.  36. 

V\7"HERE  climbs  thy  steep,  fair  Olivet, 
There  is  a  spot  most  dear  to  me : 
The  spot  with  tears  of  sorrow  wet, 
When  Jesus  knelt  in  agony. 


GETHSEMANE. 


I  love  in  thought  to  linger  there, 
To  tread  the  hallowed  ground  alone, 

Where,  on  the  silent  midnight  air, 

Rose  heavenward,  Lord,  Thy  plaintive  moan. 

I  fondly  seek  the  olive  shade 

That  veiled  Thee  when  Thy  soul  was  wrung ; 
When  angels  came  to  bring  Thee  aid, 

That  oft  to  Thee  their  harps  had  strung. 

• 

There  on  the  sacred  turf  I  kneel, 

And  breathe  my  heart's  deep  love  to  Thee, 
While  tender  memories  o'er  me  steal, 

Of  all  Thou  didst  endure  for  me. 

O  mystery  of  anguish,  when 

The  sinless  felt  sin's  heavy  woe ! 
Hell  madly  dreamed  of  triumph  then, 

While  Thy  dear  head  was  bending  low. 

Vain  dream  !     No  grief  shall  evermore 
Stain,  as  with  bloody  sweat,  Thy  brow  ; 

Robed  in  all  glory  —  thine  before  — 
The  seraphim  surround  Thee  now. 

Yet,  Lord,  from  off  the  burning  throne, 

Above  yon  stars  that  softly  gleam, 
Thou  com'st  to  meet  me  here  alone, 

By  Kedron's  old,  familiar  stream. 

1864. 


100  VIA   DOLOROSA. 

VIA   DOLOROSA. 

"  And  He  bearing  His  cross  went  forth."  —  JOHN  xix.  17. 

T  SEE  my  Lord,  the  pure,  the  meek,  the  lowly, 
-*•     Along  the  mournful  way  in  sadness  tread ; 
The  thorns  are  on  His  brow,  and  He,  the  Holy, 
Bearing  His  cross,  to  Calvary  is  led  ! 

4 

Silent  He  moveth  on,  all  uncomplaining, 
Though  wearily  His  grief  and  burden  press ; 

And  foes  —  nor  shame  nor  pity  now  restraining  — 
With  scoff  and  jeering  mock  His  deep  distress. 

'Tis  hell's  dark  hour ;  yet  calm  Himself  resigning, 

Even  as  a  lamb  that  goeth  to  be  slain, 
The  wine-press  lone  He  treadeth  unrepining, 

And  falling  blood-drops  all  His  raiment  stain. 

In  mortal  weakness  'neath  His  burden  sinking, 
The  Son  of  God  accepts  a  mortal's  aid ! 

Then  passes  on  to  Golgotha  unshrinking, 
Where  love's  divinest  sacrifice  is  made. 

Dear  Lord !  what  though  my  path  be  set  with  sorrow, 

And  oft  beneath  some  heavy  cross  I  groan  ? 
My  soul,  weighed  down,  shall  strength  and  courage 

borrow, 

At   thoughts   of   sharper  griefs  which   Thou  hast 
known. 


BURDENS.  10 1 

And  I,  in  tears,  will  yet  look  up  with  gladness, 

And  hope  when  troubles  most  my  hope  would  drown ; 

The  mournful  way  which  Thou  didst  tread  with  sadness 
Was  but  Thy  way  to  glory  and  Thy  crown ! 

1864. 


BURDENS. 

Cast  thy  burden  upon  the  Lord."  —  Ps.  Iv.  22. 


as  I  onward  go 

Through  the  mazy  round  of  life, 
Days  and  years  with  struggles  rife, 
Wearily  I  tread  and  slow; 
Oft  my  spirit  falters,  faints, 
Oft  breathes  out  her  sad  complaints. 

Guilt's  huge  burden  weighs  me  down, 

Pressing  heavily  and  sore  ; 

Till  Thy  face,  dear  Lord,  no  more 
Glows  with  smiles  ;  Thou  seem'st  to  frown, 
Though  I  long  Thy  grace  to  prove, 
Though  I  know  that  Thou  art  Love  ! 

Oft  thou  chafest,  haggard  Care  ! 
Wearing,  wasting,  day  by  day, 
Thou  each  rising  joy  dost  slay 

That  my  soul  would  upward  bear  ; 

Thou  dost  clog  my  heavenward  flight, 

Spoil  my  spirit  of  her  might. 


102  BURDENS. 

Leaden  Grief,  thou  pressest  hard, 
When  have  sped  the  shafts  of  fate, 
When  my  heart  bleeds,  desolate, 

And  by  many  an  arrow  scarred  ; 

When  on  sorrow's  sea  long  tost, 

All  the  lights  of  hope  are  lost. 


Dark  thou  broodest  o'er  my  soul, 
Gloomy  Doubt,  when  hidden  lie, 
Locked  in  awful  mystery, 
God's  deep  counsels,  and  the  scroll 
Sleeps  unopened  till  the  time 
When  goes  forth  His  word  sublime. 


Thou,  O  spectre-loving  Fear, 
All  too  oft  hast  o'er  me  flung 
Terrors  that  like  rocks  have  hung, 

Sinking  every  thought  of  cheer  ; 

Till  a  ship  I  seemed  to  be, 

Foundering  in  the  far-off  sea. 

Yet  I  hear  a  Father's  voice  : 
"  I,  Jehovah,  am  thy  strength  ; 
All  thy  burdens  bring,  at  length, 
Cast  on  me,  —  then  go,  rejoice! 
Make  thy  days  with  songs  resound, 
Rest  in  holy  peace  profound  ! " 
Yes,  my  God  ;  away,  away 

Haunting  unbelief  and  gloom  ! 
Vanish,  and  for  joy  give  room, 


TWILIGHT   WORSHIP.  103 

Joy  of  faith,  while  now  I  pray ; 
Henceforth  sweetly  on  Thy  breast, 
Love  Eternal,  will  I  rest ! 

1 868. 


TWILIGHT  WORSHIP. 


'  Surely  goodness  and  mercy  shall  follow  me  all  the  days  of  my  life  ;  and 
1  will  dwell  in  the  house  of  the  Lord  for  ever."  —  Ps.  xxiii.  6. 


T 1  7ELCOME  the  sweet  evening-tide ! 
*  *     While  its  peaceful  moments  glide, 
Jesus,  in  the  twilight  dim, 
Thou  shalt  hear  my  grateful  hymn ; 
Nightly  let  this  hour  be  given, 
Lord,  to  thoughts  of  Thee  and  heaven. 

Thou  through  all  the  day  hast  led, 
Poured  glad  sunshine  o'er  my  head ; 
Thou  hast  been  my  guard  and  guide, 
Turned  each  deadly  shaft  aside, 
Made  e'en  care  and  labor  blest, 
Laid  each  rising  fear  to  rest. 

In  this  stillness,  Saviour  dear, 

Be  Thou  to  my  spirit  near ; 

Shed  Thy  grace  like  heavenly  balm, 

This  my  care-chafed  soul  shall  calm ; 

Though  Thy  form  I  may  not  see, 

Let  me  draw  fresh  life  from  Thee. 


THE  SABBATH  BELL. 

When  shall  set  my  latest  sun, 
All  life's  years  of  labor  done, 
Let  me  gently  sink  to  rest, 
As  reposing  on  Thy  breast ; 
Sleeping  till  the  shadows  flee, 

And  I  wake,  my  Lord,  with  Thee. 

i87S. 


THE   SABBATH   BELL. 

"  For  a  day  in  Thy  courts  is  better  than  a  thmisand."  —  Ps.  Ixxxiv.  10. 

I  DO  not  know  who  is  the  author  of  the  first  of  the  following  stanzas.  It  was  set 
to  a  piece  of  music  by  Neukomm,  and  was  placed  in  my  hands  by  Dr.  LOWELL 
MASON,  with  the  request  that  another  stanza  might  be  added. 

THE  sabbath  bell  so  full  and  swelling, 
Whose  rich  vibrations  greet  the  ear, 
To  me  in  solemn  note  seems  telling 
Of  faith,  of  hope,  of  heaven  near ; 
My  heart  with  holy  joy  is  bounding, 

From  earth  my  thoughts  are  on  the  wing, 
Whene'er  the  welcome  call  is  sounding 
That  bids  me  join  the  choir  and  sing." 

And  while  I  hear  the  organ  pealing, 
And  raptured  voices  shouting  praise, 

While,  at  God's  holy  altar  kneeling, 
The  tranquil  eye  of  prayer  I  raise, 

Sweet  dews  of  heaven  seem  o'er  me  falling, 
Subduing  all  my  soul  to  love ; 

I  seem  to  hear  some  seraph  calling, 

To  bid  me  join  the  choir  above. 

1834- 


'   REPOSE  IN  GOD. 


REPOSE   IN   GOD. 


The  Lord  is  my  strength,  and  my  shield ;  my  heart  trusted  in  Him,  and 
I  am  helped." — Ps.  xxviii.  7. 


HPHEE  would  I  trust,  my  God, 
-^       And  still  each  anxious  fear ; 
Thy  hand  can  feed  and  clothe  and  keep, 
Uphold  when,  as  through  waters  deep, 

Borne  on,  I  find  no  helper  near. 
Since  led  by  Thee,  without  alarm 

Life's  devious  way  I  tread,  unheeding 

Death's  noiseless  shafts  around  me  speeding ; 
Without  Thy  leave  no  power  can  harm. 
Thy  love  hath  made  me  safely  dwell ; 
Thy  mercies,  more  than  words  can  tell, 
Have  made  my  cup  to  overflow : 
Henceforth,  since  all  to  Thee  I  owe, 

My  joy  shall  be  to  give  Thee  all ; 
To  banish  fear,  to  trust  Thee  still, 

In  every  need  on  Thee  to  call ; 
Most  blest  that  Thou  shouldst  work  Thy  will : 
So  through  the  round  of  mortal  days 
This  heart  and  tongue  shall  give  Thee  praise. 


CONQUERING  AND   TO   CONQUER. 


CONQUERING   AND   TO   CONQUER. 

"  That  at  the  name  of  Jesus  every  knee  should  bow."  —  PHIL.  ii.  10. 

CHRIST,  the  same  through  changing  years, 
Thou  hast  Thy  church  in  safety  kept ; 
Thy  love  hath  calmed  her  rising  fears, 

Hath  heard  her  when  she  prayed  and  wept. 

Her  faithful  sons,  for  love  of  Thee, 
Have  dared  opposing  powers  to  brave ; 

Resolved  from  every  bond  to  free 
The  soul  that  Thou  alone  canst  save. 

Still  for  the  honor  of  Thy  name, 

O  give  Thy  servants  strength  to  stand 

Unmoved  by  foe,  reproach,  or  shame, 
A  loving,  trusting,  dauntless  band. 

O  gather  to  Thy  peaceful  fold 

The  lost  that  on  dark  mountains  stray  ; 

Let  sinful  souls  that  Cross  behold 

Whose  blood  can  take  their  guilt  away. 

Let  triumph  crown  Thy  holy  cause, 
The  last  strongholds  of  darkness  fall ; 

The  nations  learn  and  keep  Thy  laws, 
And  own  Thee,  Jesus,  Lord  of  all ! 

1875. 


THE  SECOND   COMING. 


THE   SECOND  COMING. 

:  Behold,  He  cometh  with  clouds,  and  every  eye  shall  see  Him,  and  they 
also  which  pierced  Him."  —  REV.  i.  7. 

EHOLD,  I  come  !  "     O  Son  of  God, 
Of  old  that  word  of  Thine  was  spoken ; 

And  since  by  Thee  this  earth  was  trod, 
No  word  of  Thine  hath  e'er  been  broken. 

When  from  the  crown  of  Olivet 

Homeward  Thy  face  divine  was  set, 

And  blessings  fell  from  Thee  ascending, 
Angels  proclaimed,  Thy  guard  attending : 

"  In  yonder  skies,  this  Jesus  so 

Shall  come  as  ye  have  seen  Him  go  !  " 

"  Behold  I  come !  "     So  didst  Thou  speak ; 

The  hour  Thou  didst  Thyself  declare 
Hid  with  the  Father ;  none  may  seek 

To  read  the  awful  secret  there ! 
But  that  great  day  shall  come  when  Thou, 
Who  didst  mount  up  from  Olive's  brow, 

Shalt  yet  once  more  be  seen  descending, 

Heaven's  countless  legions  Thee  attending  ; 
And  robed  in  splendors  Thou  alone 
Shalt  fill  the  flaming  judgment  throne! 

O  day  of  days  !     When  Thou,  again 

In  power  and  majesty  appearing, 
Shalt  call  to  judgment  mortal  men, 

The  quick  and  dead  the  summons  hearing ; 


THE  GOOD  SHEPHERD. 

When  that  dread  Book  Thou  shalt  unfold 

That  hath  been  kept  from  ages  old, 
The  record  of  each  life  unsealing, 
The  secrets  of  each  heart  revealing ; 

When  they  that  pierced  Thee  mourn  too  late, 

And,  speechless,  their  just  sentence  wait ! 

E'en  so,  Lord  Jesus,  come !     All  Thine 

Shall  hear  Thy  voice  with  transport  thrilling, 

When  Thou,  in  grandeur  all  divine, 
As  when  of  old  the  tempest  stilling, 

Aloud  shalt  call :  "  Ye  blessed,  come  ! 

Inherit  now  your  destined  home ! " 

O  then  —  the  eternal  gates  unfolding  — 
Thy  saints,  the  Throne  of  Love  beholding, 

With  Thee  in  triumph  shall  ascend 

To  share  Thy  glory  without  end. 

i87S. 


THE  GOOD  SHEPHERD. 

"  My  sheep  hear  my  voice,  and  I  know  them,  and  they  follow  me :  and  I 
give  unto  them  eternal  life.''''  —  JOHN  x.  27,  28. 

T    ET  no  terrors  haunt  thee, 

•*-"*     Let  no  foe  alarm, 

E'en  death  shall  not  daunt  thee, 

Nor  hell  do  thee  harm  ; 
Thy  Lord,  ever  living, 

New  strength  for  each  hour 
In  thy  need  ever  giving, 

Shall  gird  thee  with  power. 


SABBATH  MORNING    WORSHIP. 

What  though  He  may  try  thee 

As  gold  in  the  fire  ; 
He  will  not  deny  thee 

Thy  fondest  desire  ; 
Thy  yearning  He  heedeth, 

Thy  love  knoweth  well, 
And  where  He  His  flock  feedeth, 

Will  bring  thee  to  dwell. 


Let  gladness  possess  thee, 

Let  hope  cheer  thee  still ; 
He  reigneth  to  bless  thee, 

Thy  cup  He  shall  fill ; 
Let  faith,  never  failing, 

All  peacefully  rest, 
Till,  His  dear  face  unveiling, 

He  maketh  thee  blest ! 

1875. 


SABBATH    MORNING  WORSHIP. 


"  This  is  the  day  which  the  Lord  hath  made  ;  we  will  rejoice  and  be  glad 
in  it."  —  Ps.  cxviii.  24. 


TT  7ITH  the  Sabbath's  holy  dawning 

*  *       Let  us,  Lord,  Thy  glory  see  ; 
Upward,  on  the  wings  of  morning, 
Our  glad  souls  would  mount  to  Thee ; 

Let  our  praises 
Joined  with  heaven's  grand,  chorus  be  ! 


1 10  NOCTURN. 

Let  our  thoughts  from  earth  ascending 
Hold  communion  with  the  skies  ; 

While  before  Thee  lowly  bending, 
Lord,  we  lift  our  waiting  eyes, 
Pure  and  fervent, 

Let  our  prayers  like  incense  rise. 

While  we  seek  Thee,  draw  Thou  near  us, 

Let  each  heart  Thy  presence  feel ; 
Let  Thy  grace  refresh  and  cheer  us, 
And  each  wounded  spirit  heal  ; 

Lead  us  ever, 
Till  before  Thy  throne  we  kneel. 

i87S. 


NOCTURN. 

Enter  into  thy  closet,  and  .  .  .  shut  thy  door."  —  MATT.  vi.  6 

T  SIT  in  my  silent  chamber, 

•*-     And  my  spirit  mounts  in  thought ; 

Dear  hour  of  divine  communion, 

That  oft  a  deep  joy  hath  wrought ! 
And  lo!  as  in  holy  vision, 

The  heavens  unfold  above, 
And  there  fall  bright  beams  of  glory, 

There  is  breathed  the  breath  of  love. 

I  see,  through  the  amber  portal, 

The  angels  of  God  descend  ; 
"God's  Host,"  —  they  are  swift  of  pinion, 

And  ever  His  saints  attend ; 


NOCTURN.  1 1 1 

I  hear  the  celestial  chorus, 

Harps  touched  with  divinest  skill, 

Tones  sweeter  than  breathing  zephyrs, 
That  on  my  hushed  soul  distil. 

The  praise  of  the  Holiest  hymning, 

The  skies  with  the  song  resound ; 
The  stars  seem  to  join  their  voices, 

As  they  float  in  the  dark  profound ; 
And  the  loving  Father  of  spirits, 

Though  ruling  all  worlds  the  while, 
To  the  "  Sons  of  God  "  doth  hearken, 

And  sheddeth  on  them  His  smile  ! 

Ay,  Lord,  Thou  bendest  yet  lower ; 

The  voices  of  earth  dost  hear ; 
Dost  catch  each  sigh  of  contrition, 

Dost  note  each  glistening  tear ; 
My  praise  is  to  Thee  as  incense, 

For  prayer  Thou  returnest  grace ; 
Not  now  may  these  eyes  behold  Thee, 

But  I  feel  Thy  blest  embrace. 

Why,  why  should  I  envy  seraphs, 

That  they  stand  so  near  the  throne, 
If  here  Thou  dost  deign  to  meet  me, 

If  here  dost  Thyself  make  known  ? 
If  now  in  these  evening  shadows, 

This  stillness  of  dying  day, 
My  soul  may  drink  of  Thy  fulness 

Till  won  from  her  griefs  away  ? 


112  NOCTURN. 

My  God,  Thy  secret  is  with  me, 

A  secret  I  ne'er  can  tell ; 
'Tis  life,  'tis  peace,  'tis  a  rapture, 

When  with  me  Thou  com'st  to  dwell ; 
While  the  twilight  shades  grow  deeper, 

As  spreadeth  her  wings  the  night, 
On  me  there  falleth  Thy  splendor, 

And  all  is  serenely  bright. 

My  finite  and  feeble  spirit 

With  Thine  the  Infinite  blends, 
Till  with  heaven's  own  bliss  o'erflowing, 

Her  weary,  vain  quest  she  ends ; 
As  if  on  Thy  bosom  lying, 

She  findeth  her  wished-for  rest, 
By  Eternal  Arms  enfolded  : 

Have  ye  more  than  this,  ye  blest  ? 

Ah,  yes  !  ye  spirits  immortal, 

Ye  are  not  to  sense  confined ; 
No  law  in  your  faultless  being, 

When  ye  long  to  soar,  doth  bind ; 
And  I,  too,  at  length  ascending, 

From  sense  for  ever  set  free, 
Shall  God-ward  cleave  the  bright  azure, 

As  glad  and  as  pure  as  ye ! 

My  feet  shall  tread  the  fair  city 
Adorned  as  a  beautiful  bride ; 

Shall  come  to  the  living  fountains, 
And  walk  by  the  crystal  tide ; 


DOXOLOGY. 

To  the  loved  again  united, 

Once  lost  amidst  tears  and  pain, 
I  shall  know  the  full  affection 

For  which  I  have  yearned  in  vain. 

I  shall  then,  with  undimmed  vision, 

See  what  had  been  hid  before  ; 
From  wonder  onward  to  wonder, 

For  ever  mount  up  and  adore*; 
If  on  earth  Thy  works  have  charmed  me, 

What  raptures  shall  fill  me  there, 
When  I  gaze  on  spotless  beauty, 

Than  all  I  had  dreamed  more  fair ! 

O,  then  on  the  throne  whose  brightness 

Outshineth  yon  blazing  sun, 
The  Head  of  the  whole  creation, 

I  shall  see  the  Crucified  One ! 
Where  night  spreads  no  more  her  shadow, 

I,  amidst  the  ineffable  glow, 
Shall  live  on  His  smile  for  ever, 

And  ALL  THAT  HE  IS  SHALL  KNOW  ! 

1867. 


DOXOLOGY. 

our  Father,  God  of  grace, 
Saviour,  born  of  mortal  race, 
Comforter,  our  life  and  light, 
One  in  essence,  love,  and  might ; 
Thee  whom  all  in  heaven  adore, 

We  would  worship  evermore. 

1875- 


TRANSLATIONS. 


TRANSLATIONS. 

ADVENT    HYMN. 

"  Veni Redemptor  gentium" 


THIS  hymn,  attributed  to  ST.  AMBROSE,  Bishop  of  Milan,  who  died  near  the  close 
of  the  fourth  century,  397,  was  translated  at  the  request  of  Dr.  PHILIP  SCHAFF, 
for  his  "  Christ  in  Song,"  in  which  it  originally  appeared. 


f~\  THOU  Redeemer  of  our  race, 
^-^     Come,  show  the  Virgin's  Son  to  earth  ; 
Let  every  age  admire  the  grace  ; 
Worthy  a  God  Thy  human  birth  ! 

'Twas  by  no  mortal  will  or  aid, 

But  by  the  Holy  Spirit's  might, 
That  flesh  the  Word  of  .God  was  made, 

A  babe  yet  waiting  for  the  light. 

0 

Spotless  remains  the  Virgin's  name, 
Although  the  Holy  Child  she  bears ; 

And  virtue's  banners  round  her  flame, 
While  God  a  temple  so  prepares. 

As  if  from  honor's  royal  hall, 

Comes  forth  at  length  the  Mighty  One, 
Whom  Son  of  God  and  Man  they  call, 

Eager  His  destined  course  to  run. 


JESUS   THE  BELOVED. 

Forth  from  the  Father's  bosom  sent, 
To  Him  returned,  He  claimed  His  own  ; 

Down  to  the  realms  of  death  He  went, 
Then  rose  to  share  the  eternal  throne. 

An  equal  at  the  Father's  side, 

Thou  wear'st  the  trophy  of  Thy  flesh ; 

In  Thee  our  nature  shall  abide 

In  strength  complete,  in  beauty  fresh. 

With  light  divine  Thy  manger  streams, 

.That  kindles  darkness  into  day; 
Dimmed  by  no  night  henceforth,  its  beams 
Shine  through  all  time  with  changeless  ray. 


JESUS   THE   BELOVED. 

"  Jesu,  Dulcedo  cordium" 

FROM  ST.  BERNARD  of  Clairvaux,  obt.  1153.  The  stanzas  here  translated  were 
selected  from  the  much  larger  number'  of  the  Latin  text.  The  hymn  has  become  a 
favorite  with  both  the  English  and  American  churches. 

JESUS,  Thou  Joy  of  loving  hearts  ! 
J     Thou  Fount  of  Life  !  Thou  Light  of  men  ! 
From  the  best  bliss  that  earth  imparts, 
We  turn  unfilled  to  Thee  again. 

Thy  truth  unchanged  hath  ever  stood ; 

Thou  savest  those  that  on  Thee  call ; 
To  them  that  seek  Thee,  Thou  art  good  ; 

To  them  that  find  Thee,  All  in  All ! 


THE  LORDSHIP   OF  CHRIST. 

We  taste  Thee,  O  Thou  Living  Bread, 
And  long  to  feast  upon  Thee  still ; 

We  drink  of  Thee,  the  Fountain  Head, 
And  thirst  our  souls  from  Thee  to  fill. 

Our  restless  spirits  yearn  for  Thee, 
Where'er  our  changeful  lot  is  cast ; 

Glad,  when  Thy  gracious  smile  we  see, 
Blest,  when  our  faith  can  hold  Thee  fast. 


O  Jesus,  ever  with  us  stay ! 

Make  all  our  moments  calm  and  bright ; 
Chase  the  dark  night  of  sin  away, 

Shed  o'er  the  world  Thy  holy  light ! 

1858. 


THE  LORDSHIP   OF   CHRIST. 

"Rex  Christe,  Factor^  omnium." 

ASCRIBED  to  GREGORY  the  Great,  who  was  elected  pope  in  the  year  590  ;  obt.  604. 
He  was  a  voluminous  writer. 

CHRIST,  our  King,  Creator,  Lord! 

Saviour  of  all  who  trust  Thy  word  ! 
To  them  who  seek  Thee  ever  near, 
Now  to  our  praises  bend  Thine  ear. 

In  Thy  dear  cross  a  grace  is  found,  — 
It  flows  from  every  streaming  wound,  — 
Whose  power  our  inbred  sin  controls, 
Breaks  the  firm  bond,  and  frees  our  souls  ! 


120  THE   GREAT  SACRIFICE. 

Thou  didst  create  the  stars  of  night, 
Yet  Thou  hast  veiled  in  flesh  Thy  light ; 
Hast  deigned  a  mortal  form  to  wear, 
A  mortal's  painful  lot  to  bear. 

When  Thou  didst  hang  upon  the  tree, 
The  quaking  earth  acknowledged  Thee  ; 
When  Thou  didst  there  yield  up  Thy  breath, 
The  world  grew  dark  as  shades  of  death. 

Now  in  the  Father's  glory  high, 
Great  Conqu'ror,  never  more  to  die, 
Us  by  Thy  mighty  power  defend, 

And  reign  through  ages  without  end  ! 

1858. 


THE  GREAT   SACRIFICE. 

"  Pange,  lingua,  gloriosi." 
FROM  THOMAS  AQUINAS,  obt.  1274. 
SACRAMENTAL    HYMN. 

OING,  and  the  mystery  declare  ; 
v-^     Sing  of  the  glorious  Body  slain ; 
And  of  the  Blood  beyond  compare,  — 

Price  of  the  world,  —  that  not  in  vain 
He,  sole  of  men  pure  born,  hath  shed ; 
He,  of  the  nations  King  and  Head. 

To  us  was  born  the  Christ  of  God  ; 

A  Virgin's  Son  to  us  was  given ; 
And,  while  the  earth  His  footsteps  trod, 

Abroad  He  sowed  the  seed  of  heaven  ; 


THE  GREAT  SACRIFICE.  121 

Then,  when  drew  near  His  destined  hour, 
Ordained  this  rite  of  wondrous  power. 

'Twas  on  the  last  night  of  the  feast,. 

Reclining  with  His  faithful  few, 
Of  ancient  laws,  e'en  to  the  least, 

Each  word  obeyed  with  service  true  ; 
Himself  He  gave  with  His  own  hand 
The  Bread  of  Life  to  all  the  band. 

The  incarnate  Word,  in  broken  bread, 
His  body  broken  there  did  show ; 

And  in  the  wine  His  blood,  once  shed 

From  guilt  to  cleanse,  to  save  from  woe ;  • 

Where  falters  sense,  faith  trusts  His  word, 

And  souls  sincere  receive  the  Lord. 

Before  this  noblest  sacrifice, 

In  reverent  love  we  lowly  bow ; 
No  more  the  appointed  victim  dies, 

But  shadow  yields  to  substance  now ; 
While  Faith,  that  want  of  sight  supplies, 
Lifts  to  the  cross  her  trustful  eyes. 

Now  to  the  Father  and  the  Son, 
And  Spirit  sent  by  each,  shall  be 

All  worship,  honor,  homage  done, 
By  all  that  live,  eternally ; 

Unto  the  Three  in  One  be  given 

An  equal  praise,  in  earth  and  heaven. 

1868. 


122  SACRAMENTAL  HYMN. 

SACRAMENTAL   HYMN. 

"  O  Esc  a  viator  urn." 

THIS  hymn  has  by  some  been  attributed  to  THOMAS  AQUINAS  ;  Dr.  SCHAFF  thinks 
erroneously.  He  regards  it  as  belonging  to  the  fourteenth  century,  the  author 
unknown. 

BREAD  to  pilgrims  given, 

O  Food  that  angels  eat, 
O  Manna  sent  from  heaven, 

For  heaven-born  natures  meet ! 
Give  us,  for  Thee  long  pining, 

To  eat  till  richly  filled  ; 
Till,  earth's  delights  resigning, 
Our  every  wish  is  stilled  ! 

O  Water,  life-bestowing, 

From  out  the  Saviour's  heart, 
A  fountain  purely  flowing, 

A  fount  of  love  Thou  art ! 
O>  let  us,  freely  tasting, 

Our  burning  thirst  assuage ! 
Thy  sweetness,  never  wasting, 

Avails  from  age  to  age. 

Jesus,  this  feast  receiving, 

We  Thee  unseen  adore ; 
Thy  faithful  word  believing, 

We  take,  and  doubt  no  more ; 
Give  us,  Thou  true  and  loving, 

On  earth  to  live  in  Thee ; 
Then,  death  the  veil  removing, 

Thy  glorious  face  to  see. 


/  GIVE  MY  HEART. 
I   GIVE   MY   HEART. 

"  Cor  meum  Tibi  dedo,  Jesu  dulcissime." 

THIS  beautiful  hymn  is  found  in  Daniel's  Thesaurus,  the  author  and  the  date 
both  unknown.     The  Latin  is  ch'aracterized  by  great  simplicity  and  tenderness. 

T  GIVE  my  heart  to  Thee, 
-*•     O  Jesus  most  desired  ! 
And  heart  for  heart  the  gift  shall  be, 

For  Thou  my  soul  hast  fired  : 
Thou  hearts  alone  would' st  move; 
Thou  only  hearts  dost  love. 
I  would  love  Thee  as  Thou  lov'st  me, 
O  Jesus  most  desired  ! 

What  offering  can  I  make, 

Dear  Lord,  to  love  like  Thine  ?  » 

That  Thou,  the  God,  didst  stoop  to  take 

A  human  form  like  mine  ! 
"  Give  me  thy  heart,  my  son  :  " 
Behold  my  heart,  —  'tis  done ! 
I  would  love  Thee  as  Thou  lov'st  me, 
O  Jesus  most  desired ! 

Thy  heart  is  opened  wide, 

Its  offered  love  most  free, 
That  heart  to  heart  I  may  abide, 

And  hide  myself  in  Thee  : 
Ah,  how  Thy  love  doth  burn, 
Till  I  that  love  return  ! 
I  would  love  Thee  as  Thou  lov'st  me, 
O  Jesus  most  desired ! 


124  COME,   HOLY  GHOST. 

Here  finds  my  heart  its  rest,  * 

Repose  that  knows  no  shock, 
The  strength  of  love  that  keeps  it  blest. 

In  Thee,  the  riven  Rock, 
My  soul,  as  girt  around, 
Her  citadel  hath  found. 
I  would  love  Thee  as  Thou  lov'st  me, 
O  Jesus  most  desired ! 

1868. 


COME,    HOLY  GHOST. 

"  Vent,  Sancte  Sftritus." 

OF  this  hymn  TRENCH  says  :  "  The  loveliest  of  all  the  hymns  in  the  whole  circle 
of  Latin  sacred  poetry  has  a  king  for  its  author.  ROBERT  the  Second,  son  of  HUGH 
CAPET,  succeeded  his  father  on  the  throne  of  France,  in  the  year  997.  He  was  sin 
gularly  addicted  to  church  music,  which  he  enriched,  as  well  as  the  hymnology,  with 
compositions  of  his  own."  Obt.  1031. 


Holy  Ghost,  in  love 
Shed  on  us  from  above 
Thine  own  bright  ray  ! 
Divinely  good  Thou  art  ; 
Thy  sacred  gifts  impart 
To  gladden  each  sad  heart  : 
O,  come  to-day  ! 

Come,  tend'rest  Friend,  and  best, 
Our  most  delightful  guest, 

With  soothing  power  : 
Rest,  which  the  weary  know, 
Shade,  'mid  the  noontide  glow, 
Peace,  when  deep  griefs  o'erflow, 

Cheer  us  this  hour  ! 


PASCHAL  HYMN. 

Come,  Light  serene,  and  still 
Our  inmost  bosoms  fill ; 

Dwell  in  each  breast : 
We  know  no  dawn  but  Thine ; 
Send  forth  Thy  beams  divine, 
On  our  dark  souls  to  shine, 

And  make  us  blest ! 

Exalt  our  low  desires  ; 
Extinguish  passion's  fires ; 

Heal  every  wound  : 
Our  stubborn  spirits  bend, 
Our  icy  coldness  end, 
Our  devious  steps  attend, 

While  heavenward  bound. 

Come,  all  the  faithful  bless  ; 
Let  all,  who  Christ  confess, 

His  praise  employ : 
Give  virtue's  rich  reward, 
Victorious  death  accord, 
And,  with  our  glorious  Lord, 

Eternal  joy! 


1858. 


PASCHAL    HYMN. 

"  Vita  sanctorum,  decus  angelortim.'1'' 

THIS  is  an  ancient  hymn  of  unknown  date  and  authorship,  probably  written  some 
where  from  the  tenth  to  the  thirteenth  century,  and  widely  used  in  public  worship. 


,  of  heaven  the  life  and  grace, 
Life  and  grace  of  all  below, 
Yielding  once  to  death's  embrace, 
Thou  didst  crush  the  mighty  foe  ! 


126  LAUDES  AD  MATUTINUM. 

By  the  trophy  Thou  didst  rear, 
Keep  Thy  servants  joyful  still, 

Till  the  promised  day  appear, 

When  Thy  name  the  earth  shall  fill. 

Paschal  Lamb,  who  from  the  dead 
Didst  with  wakened  saints  arise, 

Then  our  nature,  in  our  Head, 
Rose  beyond  the  starry  skies. 

Thence,  exalted,  glorious  Lord, 
God  o'er  all,  yet  man  still  known, 

Thou  shalt  come,  fulfilled  Thy  word, 
Seated  on  the  judgment  throne. 

Lift  our  hearts  Thy  joy  to  share, 
Thou  that  shar'st  the  Father's  seat; 

Plunge  us  not  to  deep  despair, 
When  we  rise  our  judge  to  meet. 

DOXOLOGY. 

This  may  the  Father  grant,  with  Thee, 
And  with  the  Spirit,  —  Holy  Three, — 
One  reigning  God,  whose  throne  shall  last 
While  glide  eternal  ages  past ! 


LAUDES    AD    MATUTINUM. 

"  Eccejam  noctis  tenuatur  umbra." 
BY  GREGORY  the  Great,  obt.  604. 

TOEHOLD,  the  shade  of  night  is  now  receding! 
;§rf  Kindling  with  splendors,  fair  the  dawn  is  glowing ; 
With  fervent  hearts,  O  let  us  all  implore  Him, 

Ruler  Almighty! 


LAUDES  AD   NOCTURNUM. 

That  He,  our  God,  will  look  on  us  in  pity, 

Send  strength  for  weakness,  grant  us  His  salvation. 

And  with  a  Father's  pure  affection  give  us 

Glory  eternal. 

This  grace  O  grant  us,  God-head  ever  blessed, 
Of  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost  in  union, 
Whose  praises  be  through  earth's  most  distant  regions 

Ever  resounding. 


LAUDES   AD   NOCTURNUM. 

"  Nocte  stirgente  vigilemus  omnes." 
BY  GREGORY  the  Great,  obt.  604. 

'"TV /TID  evening  shadows  let  us  all  be  watching, 
-L*^-  Ever  in  psalms  our  deep  devotion  waking, 
And  with  one  voice  hymns  to  the  Lord,  the  Saviour, 

Sweetly  be  singing. 

That  to  the  holy  King  our  songs  ascending, 
We  worthily  with  all  His  saints  may  enter 
The  heavenly  Temple,  joyfully  partaking 

Life  everlasting. 

This  grace  O  grant  us,  God-head  ever-blesse"d, 

Of  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost  in  union, 

Whose  praises  be  through  earth's  most  distant  regions 

Ever  resounding ! 

1869. 


PENITENTIAL  HYMN. 
PENITENTIAL    HYMN. 

(from  the  German.) 

THIS  hymn  is  a  very  free  translation  of  a  German  hymn,  made  many  years  since, 
from  an  author  whose  name  was  not  noted,  and  has  been  forgotten.  It  has  kept  its 
place  in  the  manuals  for  public  worship. 

\\  7E  stand  in  deep  repentance, 

*  *       Before  Thy  throne  of  love; 
O  God  of  grace,  forgive  us, 

The  stain  of  guilt  remove  ; 
Behold  us  while  with  weeping 

We  lift  our  eyes  to  Thee ; 
And  all  our  sins  subduing, 

Our  Father,  set  us  free ! 

O,  shouldst  Thou  from  us  fallen 

Withhold  Thy  grace  to  guide, 
For  ever  we  should  wander, 

From  Thee,  and  peace,  aside : 
But  Thou  to  spirits  contrite 

Dost  light  and  life  impart, 
That  man  may  learn  to  serve  Thee 

With  thankful,  joyous  heart. 

Our  souls,  —  on  Thee  we  cast  them, 

Our  only  refuge  Thou  ! 
Thy  cheering  words  revive  us, 
.    When  pressed  with  grief  we  bow : 
Thou  bear'st  the  trusting  spirit 

Upon  Thy  loving  breast, 
And  givest  all  Thy  ransomed 

A  sweet,  unending  rest. 

1834- 


HOME. 


PART   I. 


PREFACE. 


*T^HE  writer  has  desired  to  present  such  a  picture  of 
Home  as  not  only  may  be,  but  actually  has  been, 
substantially  realized  in  instances  almost  without  number. 
The  sketch  is  supposed  to  have  had  its  original  in  New 
England,  —  not  because  such  homes  are  not  now  widely 
found  beyond  her  boundaries,  but  because,  historically, 
our  American  Homes  there  first  exhibited  their  highest 
moral  power  and  beauty  ;  so  that  it  may  be  fairly  claimed 
that  from  her,  as  its  source,  has  flowed  the  purest  and 
best  social  life  of  our  country.  The  early  settlers  laid  the 
foundations  of  society  in  learning  and  religion  :  and  it 
may  reasonably  be  doubted  whether  there  has  ever  been 
another  spot  of  equal  extent  on  the  globe,  in  which  so 
great  a  number  of  intelligent  and  virtuous  Homes  could 
have  been  counted.  The  healthful  influence  of  New  Eng 
land  domestic  life  now  reaches  the  newly  rising  States  to 
the  very  shores  of  the  Pacific. 

To  those  who  have  known  the  joys  and  permanent 
benefits  of  well-ordered  and  happy  Homes,  the  writer 
trusts  that  the  reading  of  these  pages  may  afford  a  tran 
quil  pleasure.  It  is  well  to  revive  and  cherish  the  sweet 
recollections  of  childhood  and  youth,  to  recall  the  vicissi 
tudes  of  after  years,  and  to  bring  back  the  dear  faces  of 


HOME. 


the  loved  and  honored  who  have  passed  away  from  earth. 
Such  reminiscences  tend  to  make  the  heart  better. 

If  what  has  here  been  written  shall  help,  even  in  the 
least  degree,  to  elevate  in  the  minds  of  young  men  and 
women  the  ideal  of  the  family  and  Home,  and  to  deepen 
in  the  hearts  of  any  a  conviction  of  the  sacredness  and 
beauty  of  a  pure  domestic  life  and  the  peril  to  every  in 
terest  of  humanity  involved  in  the  desecration  of  house 
hold  sanctities,  the  author  will  thankfully  recognize  the 
accomplishment  of  his  highest  purpose. 


DOMESTIC  happiness,  thou  only  bliss 
Of  Paradise,  that  has  survived  the  fall ! 

COWPER. 

LOVE  is  life's  end  :  an  end  but  never  ending; 
All  joys,  all  sweets,  all  happiness  awarding; 
Love  is  life's  wealth,  ne'er  spent  but  ever  spending, 
More  rich  by  giving,  taking  by  discarding  ; 
Love's  life's  reward,  rewarded  in  rewarding. 

SPENSER. 


HOME. 


PART   I. 

,  gentle  lyre !  sequestered  from  the  world, 
Tired  of  its  tumults  and  its  pomps  and  pride, 
Thee,  wonted  solace  of  my  care-worn  heart, 
Glad  I  resume  :  intent  not  now  to  strike 
With  hurried  hand  thy  strings,  nor  thee  to  make 
Loud  resonant  of  numbers  strange  or  wild  ; 
But,  with  such  mood  serene  and  airy  touch 
As  best  befit  soft-breathing  harmonies, 
To  wake  thy  tones  on  a  familiar  theme. 

As  whom  necessity  ordains  to  tread 
The  arid  waste  where  trackless  Libyan  sands 
Reflect  the  sun,  seek  not  in  vain  to  find, 
At  distant  intervals,  some  friendly  spots 
Where  gurgling  waters  'neath  o'ershadowing  palms 
Invite  repose  ;  so,  o'er  the  wastes  of  life 
While  sent  to  roam,  where  pines  full  oft  unfilled 
Intense  desire,  and  nameless  ills  beset 


HOME. 

Us  hapless  wanderers  on  an  unknown  way, 
We  seek  and  find  oases  bright  and  fair. 

Most  fair,  most  bright  art  thou,  dear  peaceful  Home, 
Of  all  best  earthly  gifts  by  Heaven  bestowed 
Man's  pilgrim  path  to  cheer.     Ever  thou  art 
A  refuge  from  the  storm  ;  from  the  rough  wind 
A  covert.     All  who  may,  in  each  dark  hour 
When  sorrows  bow  the  soul,  or  when  of  care 
The  lighter  burden  wearily  doth  press, 
Fly  to  thy  bosom,  and  secluded  find 
In  thy  sweet  influence  solace  and  repose. 
Who  know  thee  not  —  alas,  that  such  should  be  !  — 
Pine  for  thee,  and  still  hope,  though  hope  deferred 
Hath  oft  made  sick  the  heart,  that  yet  for  them 
Some  spot  shall  bear  thy  well-beloved  name. 
The  wanderer  thinks  of  thee.     With  him  he  bears 
A  thousand  hallowed  memories,  fondly  kept, 
That  waken  oft  afresh.     E'en  while  he  treads, 
With  heedful  musings,  old  historic  ground, 
Rich  with  the  spoils  of  Time,  where  crumbling  stand 
The  hoary  monuments  of  glories  dead  ; 
Or  climbs  'mid  Alpine  wonders,  and  surveys 
Rude  wilds  where  Nature  all  untamed  abides  ; 
In  search  of  thee  his  truant  thought  will  stray. 
Or  if  he  tempt  the  main,  far,  far  away 
Swept  by  the  breeze  across  the  heaving  deep,  :...; 
Fixed  on  his  lonely  watch  at  midnight  hour, 
The  watery  waste  around,  the  stars  above, 


HOME. 

Back  o'er  the  flood  he  roams  to  visit  thee. 
For  thee  the  captive  sighs  in  the  still  gloom 
Of  his  dim  cell.     The  warrior  grim,  what  time 
He  treads  the  battle-field  where  marshalled  hosts 
Await  the  bloody  fray  —  pride  on  his  brow 
And  glory  on  his  crest  —  lets  fall  a  tear, 
While  o'er  him  steal,  like  flute-notes  faintly  heard, 
Remembrances  thick-coming  of  thy  joys. 
Dear  rest  and  centre  thou  of  faithful  hearts, 
Where'er  thy  seat ;  as  well  'neath  tropic  suns 
As  where  Arcadian  realms  boast  genial  skies, 
Or  arctic  winter  spreads  eternal  snows  ; 
O'er  the  wide  world  thy  magic  spell  enchains. 


Not  many  years  have  rolled  since,  where  now  smile 
New  England's  happy  Homes,  the  forest  stood, 
A  mighty  wilderness.     O'er  hills  and  vales 
Spread  virgin  groves,  where  never  yet  had  rung 
The  stroke  of  woodman's  axe,  and  tangled  brakes 
And  thickets  dark,  that  many  a  covert  wove. 
There  prowled  the  cruel  wolf.     There  undisturbed 
The  bear  reared  her  fierce  progeny.     The  owl 
Hooted  from  his  lone  seat  upon  the  pine, 
And  echo  answered  back.     The  eagle  soared 
And  screamed,  or,  pouncing  on  his  quivering  prey, 
Perched  on  some  naked  cliff  and  fed  secure. 
Along  the  river,  gliding  broad  and  slow, 
Or  up  the  rapid  brook,  that  babbling  loud 
Rushed  from  the  mountain  headlong  to  the  plain, 


HOME. 


The  trout  and  salmon  darted  unensnared. 

Of  human  kind  sole  tenant  of  the  wild, 

The  lordly  savage  reigned,  and  urged  the  chase, 

Of  useful  toil  impatient ;  or,  when  war 

Roused  his  dark  passions,  from  his  ambuscade 

Treacherous  he  darted,  and,  with  horrid  yell, 

Vengeful  and  unrelenting  scalped  his  foe. 

No  peaceful  Home  was  then.     The  dingy  squaw, 

The  menial  of  her  lord,  now  left  to  guard 

The  smoky  wigwam,  now  with  blows  compelled 

Him  vagrant  to  attend  with  weary  load, 

Dragged  out,  a  semi-brute,  her  wretched  life. 


For  man,  for  woman,  God  all-good  ordained 
A  worthier  destiny.     By  sacred  ties, 
In  household  life  and  harmony  of  love 
He  formed  them  to  be  joined  ;  society 
Made  sure  by  nature's  law  ;  and  so  decreed 
That  states  and  kingdoms  should  successive  rise ; 
That  mind  with  mind  in  sympathy  should  wake 
New  energies,  the  needs  of  men  impel 
To  foster  arts,  and  search  creation  through 
For  knowledge  of  his  own  eternal  thoughts. 
He  meant  not  the  prolific  earth  should  lie 
Incultivate,  but,  tilled  with  patient  care, 
Should  smile  with  flowers  as  erst  an  Eden  smiled, 
And  yield  the  culturing  hand  a  rich  reward. 
'Twas  His  behest  that  bade  the  forest  bow, 


HOME. 


The  savage  beast  retire,  and  savage  men 
Give  place  to  cultivation,  order,  laws. 

A  lonely  bark  came  o'er  the  stormy  sea  ; 
Not  freighted  deep  with  pelf  ;  it  richer  bore, 
What  famed  Golconda's  treasures  could  not  buy, 
A  band  of  noble  hearts.     Men  trod  that  deck 
Who  knew  that  they  were  men,  and  freely  gave 
For  liberty  and  truth  what  else  was  dear. 
No  factious  spirits,  who,  through  spleen  or  pride, 
Contemned  their  country's  laws  and  roamed  to  find 
What  earth's  circumference  within,  for  them, 
Was  nowhere  to  be  found,  content  and  peace. 
Of  England's  best,  to  her  they  fondly  clung, 
Proud  of  her  glorious  names  and  old  renown  ; 
And  as  her  loyal  sons  their  lives  had  spent, 
And  with  her  honored  dead  had  peaceful  slept 
'Neath  hallowed  aisles  in  storied  chapels  dim, 
Less  had  they  loved  what  most  ennobles  man  — 
Freedom  of  soul,  pure  faith,  and  peace  with  Heaven. 
Hatred  hath  called  them  stern ;  their  sturdy  strength 
Of  principle  hath  bigotry  misnamed ; 
And  levity,  with  leer  and  gibe  profane, 
Blasphemed  their  sanctity  and  saintly  zeal. 
'Tis  rather  bigotry  that  dares  deny 
Their  nobleness,  their  glory  that  would  stain. 
Warm  were  their  hearts ;  none  warmer  e'er  did  beat 
In  manly  breasts ;  and  humble  though  their  Homes, 
By  wealth  unblest,  yet  love  and  beauty  there 


HOME. 

Found  place  for  sweet  unfolding,  nor  was  mirth 
A  stranger  at  those  hearths  where  nightly  blazed 
The  fires  that  made  a  fireside  worth  the  name. 
Knowledge,  religion,  virtue,  —  wheresoe'er 
These  dwell  together,  dwell  earth's  best  delights. 
Not  faultless  were  they,  else  were  they  not  men  ; 
Yet  less  their  own  the  faults  than  of  their  time ; 
Of  times  long  past,  when  many  an  error  reigned 
As  yet  unchallenged,  blinding  all  alike 
To  truths  since  seen  as  in  the  midday  blaze. 
Beyond  their  fellows,  keenly  had  they  pierced 
Error's  thick-veiling  mists,  and  Truth  discerned 
In  her  diviner  forms  ;  aside  had  flung 
Falsehoods  long  honored,  maxims  cherished  long 
That  mighty  ills  had  wrought ;  the  good,  the  right, 
In  their  great  hearts  they  worshipped ;    these  they 

sought, 

As  misers  search  for  gold,  with  deathless  love ; 
Clung  to  them  found,  as  with  the  grasp  of  fate ! 
What  if  perchance  from  ardor  so  intense 
Of  quenchless  earnestness,  their  zeal  o'erglowed 
At  times,  and  they  —  their  vision  not  yet  clear  — 
There  erred  where  all  the  world  had  erred  till  then  ? 
Ah !  ye  who  meanly  seek  to  tear  away 
The  honors  thickly  clustered  round  their  brows, 
Yours,  yours  the  lack  of  heavenly  charity 
Ye  charge  on  them  ;  yours  with  far  less  defence ! 
On  you  returned  at  last  shall  rest  the  shame ; 
And  as  the  sun  from  the  c^lear  mirror  wipes 


HOME. 

The  envious  vapor  that  its  lustre  dimmed, 
Just  Time  their  names  to  honor  shall  restore.1 

Such  were  thy  sires,  New  England  ;  such  the  men 
That  tamed  thy  wilds  ;  thy  slopes  and  valleys  robed 
With  waving  fields  ;  made  e'en  thy  rugged  hills 
Look  kind  ;  thy  teeming  cities  with  their  marts, 
Their  industries  and  commerce,  rise  and  thrive. 
Rich  among  lands  art  thou  in  sweet  content, 
In  health  and  plenty,  born  of  patient  toil. 
Rich  in  thy  stalwart  sons  and  daughters  fair, 
That  o'er  the  world,  where'er  their  feet  may  tread, 
Bear  with  them  blessing.     Known  of  all  are  they, 
Of  keen  intelligence  and  purpose  firm. 
About  their  footsteps  truth  and  freedom  spring, 
And  law's  firm  voice  is  heard,  —  her  word  obeyed  ; 
Wide  sown  are  wisdom's  seeds,  and  useful  arts, 
With  many  a  curious,  many  a  rare  device, 
Lend  force  to  labor,  or  embellish  life. 
Their  Mother  they  forget  not  ;  but  from  far, 
Where,  ocean-like,  the  boundless  prairie  spreads, 
Where  rock-ribbed  mountains  lift  their  frowning  forms, 
And  sunset  regions  kiss  the  western  wave, 
Their  hearts  with  many  a  yearning  backward  turn, 
True  to  her  still  ;  and  all  her  scenes  recalled 
Look  fairer  seen  in  memory's  mellow  light. 
A  Holy  Land  she  seems,  where  God  abides  ; 
Nor  seems  alone.     Holy  well  named  a  land 

1  See  Appendix,  note  B. 


HOME. 

Where  lives  a  faith  divine  ;  where  graceful  rise 

Religion's  hallowed  domes,  and  close  at  hand 

The  school-house,  fit  ally,  within  whose  walls 

Kind  culture  early  moulds  the  plastic  mind 

To  virtue  .and  to  truth  ;  where  stand  embowered 

The  mantled  cottage  and  the  tasteful  Home. 

Dear  tranquil  scenes  !     Home,  o'er  the  world  a  name 

That  like  a  talisman  calls  to  the  soul 

All  images  of  bliss,  hath  here  a  spell 

Of  mightiest  working.1     Other  lands  may  boast 

More  friendly  soils  ;  and  blander  airs  may  breathe 

Upon  their  spicy  beds  that  odors  yield 

More  fragrant  far  ;  and  birds  of  rarer  note 

Among  their  groves  pour  richer  melodies  ; 

And  lordlier  dwellings  rise.     But  where  hath  earth 

A  soil  more  free,  a  clime  that  ministers 

More  vigor  to  the  frame,  or  fosters  more 

True  energy  of  soul  ?     Where  Nature's  face 

A  nobler  aspect  —  mountain  crests  that  climb 

In  their  blue  dimness,  reverend  forests  tall 

Crowning  the  hills  with  majesty  and  grace, 

And  waterfalls  that,  with  sonorous  voice 

Softened  by  distance,  charm  the  listening  ear  ? 

Where  doth  the  rustic  dwelling  more  bespeak 

Substantial  comfort,  or  with  happier  art 

Where  Luxury  convenience  blend  with  taste  ? 

1  Appendix,  note  C. 


HOME. 

In  yon  sweet  vale  that  —  mingling  field  and  grove 
In  fair  confusion  —  fills  the  roving  eye 
With  images  of  beauty  ;  on  a  slope 
Gently  declining  toward  the  midday  sun, 
A  modest  mansion  stands,  —  a  rural  home  ; 
But  one  of  thousands  that  New  England  boasts  — 
The  jewels  "of  her  crown  —  her  pride  and  joy. 
Nor  rude,  nor  splendid,  it  hath  yet  a  charm, 
A  quiet  loveliness.     Come,  ye  who  dream 
That  Peace,  an  exile,  dwells  with  men  no  more  ; 
Ye  who  in  vain  pursue  her  through  the  maze 
Where  witching  pleasure  lures,  and  oft  deceived 
As  oft  the  eager  chase  again  renew  ; 
Ye  who  would  seek  her  but  in  princely  halls, 
With  fretted  ceiling  arched  and  draperies  hung 
In  gorgeous  richness,  where  luxurious  couch 
And  orient  ottoman  invite  repose, 
With  harp,  or  lute,  by  snowy  fingers  touched, 
That  soothes  and  lulls  in  soft  voluptuous  strain  — 
Come  hither,  mark,  and  muse  and  grow  more  wise. 

Lo,  where  the  hand  of  taste  hath  graced  the  scene ! 
The  charms  of  nature  by  judicious  skill 
Are  heightened  here  ;  their  absence  there  supplied 
By  quaint  device.     The  grassy  plat  that  spreads 
In  neat  simplicity  before  the  door, 
Majestic  elms,  by  some  ancestral  hand 
Long  years  ago  transplanted,  overhang  ; 
Their  arching  boughs  affording  grateful  shade 


HOME. 


To  childhood's  laughing  groups,  that  gather  there 
In  merry  mood,  on  the  bright  summer  day, 
And  with  their  harmless  pastimes  fill  the  hours. 
The  tasteful  garden,  with  neat  fence  enclosed, 
Bespeaks  attentive  culture.     Clustering  trees, 
The  apple,  cherry,  pear,  the  tempting  peach 
And  the  delicious  plum,  are  set  to  please    • 
The  order-loving  eye  ;  and  'mid  the  shades 
Of  their  dark  foliage  half  conceal  the  bower, 
Round  which  the  woodbine  creeps  and  roses  twine. 
Here,  thickly  set,  the  grateful  currant  grows, 
And  the  sweet  raspberry.     The  vine  there  climbs 
O'er  the  arched  trellis  ;  and,  when  Autumn  claims 
Her  offering  of  fruits,  hangs  richly  out 
Her  purple  clusters  ;  while  yon  beds  of  flowers, 
Of  many  a  name  and  hue,  their  incense  pay 
To  genial  Summer,  when  they  drink  her  smiles. 
Here  oft  at  twilight  of  a  summer's  eve, 
While  linger  yet,  along  the  glowing  west, 
Clouds,  that  like  golden  islands  seem  to  float 
Upon  an  azure  sea,  or  spread  afar 
Like  some  imperial  pavement  wrought  with  art 
Divine,  of  precious  stones,  agate  and  amethyst, 
Sapphire  and  emerald  —  come,  arm  in  arm, 
The  beautiful  and  young.     The  peaceful  hour 
Sheds  its  sweet  influence  o'er  them.     Slowly  now, 
As  best  befits  such  converse  as  they  hold, 
They  thread  the  winding  paths,  or  seek  the  bower ; 
And  now,  as  with  some  sudden  transport  seized, 


HOME. 

Burst  forth  in  merry  laugh,  and  glide  along, 

Like  tripping  fairies,  in  pursuit  and  flight 

Alternate,  as  capricious  impulse  moves. 

But  gay  or  grave,  alike  they  waken  here, 

'Mid  outward  loveliness,  pure  thoughts,  and  feel 

Quick-kindling  sympathies  their  hearts  unite. 

Here,  as  in  earth's  first  garden,  dwells  sweet  Peace, 

With  joys  of  innocence  and  social  love  ; 

A  home  is  here,  with  all  its  histories, 

Its  storied  past,  its  present,  and  to  come. 

O'er  it  have  passed  the  changing  lights  and  shades, 

Or  will  as  years  shall  run  their  circles  round, 

Which,  since  was  lost  the  primal  Paradise, 

Have  checkered  all  the  mortal  lot  of  men. 

Home !  'tis  to  Heaven's  wise  law  we  mortals  owe 
Thee  and  all  thine.     In  the  first  home  was  placed 
Not  Adam  sole  ;  with  him  the  gentler  Eve, 
Woman,  man's  other  self,  in  whom  alone 
His  complement  he  finds.     God  called,  'tis  said, 
Not  his,  but  their  name,  Adam,  in  the  day 
When  He  humanity  complete  had  made. 
E'er  since,  in  thee,  O  wedded  love,  are  laid 
The  deep  foundations  of  domestic  bliss  ; 
With  thee,  through  all  the  cycles,  have  been  hid 
Sweet  springs  of  joy  whence,  like  full  streams,  have 

flowed 

Earth's  pleasures  that  are  likest  those  of  heaven. 
For  what  is  heaven  save  innocence  and  love 


144  HOME. 

Inseparable  —  in  mystic  life  combined  ?  — 

The  sympathy  of  hearts  that  throb  and  glow 

With  love's  quick  impulse  ;  and  harmonious  beat, 

Each  vibrating  to  each,  as  in  the  harp 

To  one  touched  string  according  strings  respond  ? 

Eternal  Love,  intent  to  make  earth  blest 

With  all  best  joys,  nor  man  nor  woman  made 

For  unrelated  life,  but  each  for  each  ; 

Each  only  in  the  other  without  lack 

Of  somewhat  that,  unfound,  the  restless  heart 

Yearns  ever,  nor  can  know  a  full  content. 

O  subtile  instinct !     Hidden  law  deep  wrought 

Into  the  soul's  own  texture,  by  His  will 

Who,  Love  Himself,  man  in  His  likeness  framed 

To  dwell  in  love  ;  his  native  element, 

The  vital  air,  in  which  to  live  and  move  ! 

God  and  thy  kind  both  loved  with  one  pure  flame, 

O  mortal,  thou  most  like  to  God  shalt  be, 

Blessing  and  blessed  ;  and  by  thy  stony  paths 

Shall  spring  such  flowers  as  Paradise  did  yield 

Ere  with  the  reign  of  love  her  all  she  lost. 

Yon  mansion  long  ago,  one  summer  morn, 
A  morn  bright,  dewy,  fresh  with  balmy  breath 
Of  myriad  blossoms  laughing  o'er  the  fields, 
Received  a  youthful  pair.     Late  at  God's  shrine. 
In  holy  rite  made  one,  hand  joined  to  hand 
As  heart  before  to  heart,  here  they  begin, 
Rich  in  fair  hopes  and  visions,  and  yet  more 


HOME. 

In  fresh  affections,  for  themselves  and  theirs 

A  Home  to  found  and  consecrate.     Henceforth, 

Holy  the  place  shall  be  through  opening  years, 

In  all  their  thoughts  ;  sacred  to  wedded  love, 

To  tranquil  joys,  to  purity,  to  peace  ; 

To  healthful  pleasures  with  each  other  shared  ; 

To  useful  tasks  together  daily  wrought ; 

To  books  and  culture,  and  congenial  friends  ; 

To  piety,  and  prayer,  and  heavenward  steps  ; 

To  all  that  earth  yet  yields  to  faithful  hearts 

Demonstrative  that  once  an  Eden  was, 

And  proof,  by  foretaste,  that  a  heaven  shall  be. 

Edward  and  Mary,  —  these  the  names  they  bore  ; 

Names,  like  their  story,  neither  new  nor  strange. 

Nor  name  nor  story  such  as  one  might  choose 

Who  with  romantic  tale,  or  legend  old, 

Or  startling  horror,  would  the  listless  rouse  ; 

But  suiting  well  the  simple  and  the  true. 

O  happy  man !     To  whom  of  God  'tis  given 
To  lead,  a  joyous  bride,  one  who  has  taught 
Thy  heart  —  that  as  in  fevered  restlessness, 
Far  roving,  stayed  not  till  her  gentle  eye 
Seized  it  and  fast  a  willing  captive  held  — 
To  end  its  rovings  and  in  her  to  rest ! 
How  like  an  angel  in  the  robes  of  heaven 
She  stands  beside  thee  —  thine  own  angel  now! 
How  beats  with  manly  pride  thy  heart,  the  while 
Thou  lead'st  her  from  the  altar  to  the  seat, 


HOME. 

Her  fitting  throne,  at  Home's  dear  centre  placed  ; 
Where,  as  a  queen,  ruling  without  command, 
She,  radiant  as  the  morning  star,  shall  shine, 
Mighty  in  gentleness,  in  sweetness  strong. 
It  is  but  meet  that  on  her  maiden  brow, 
And  in  the  eyes  that  kindle  at  thy  glance, 
Thou  shouldst  enraptured  gaze  ;  and  gazing  find 
Thy  soul  with  nobler  manliness  inspired, 
And  high  ambitions  all  unfelt  before. 
Henceforth,  for  thee  shall  each  returning  dawn 
Wake  worthiest  thoughts.     Not  for  thyself  alone, 
Thou  shalt  go  forth  life's  battle-fields  to  try  ; 
But,  with  chivalric  tread  and  lance  in  rest, 
For  her,  to  death  if  need,  in«gallant  strife 
Thou  shalt  defend  all  honor,  truth,  and  right ; 
Win  all  that  may  on  her  true  lustre  shed ; 
And  shield  her  from  all  ills  that  courage  firm, 
And  strength  of  love,  and  patience  can  avert. 
For  God  and  her !     What  impulse  canst  thou  lack 
To  wrestle  with  all  dangers,  to  withstand 
Pleasure's  seductive  call,  and  Duty's  voice 
With  quenchless  ardor  ever  to  obey ! 

Thou  too,  O  woman,  of  thy  kind  most  blest, 
Who  in  thy  spring  of  beauty  standest  glad 
Beside  thy  well-beloved  and  call'st  him  now 
Thy  husband  !     Name  so  rich  to  thy  fond  heart, 
In  promise  of  best  joys  that  earth  can  know. 
To  thee  no  music  like  the  bridegroom's  voice ; 


HOME. 

To  that  thy  tremulous  heart  instant  responds, 

As  to  the  soft  west  wind  the  swelling  strain 

Waked  on  the  harp-string  breathes  its  sweetness  back. 

In  him  thy  strength  thou  seest.     The  sturdy  arm 

To  which  thou  cling'st  confiding,  thine  shall  be 

In  danger's  hour  for  succor  and  defence ; 

For  kind  support  when  on  the  toilsome  way 

Thy  steps  would  falter,  or  thy  heart  grow  faint. 

His  wisdom,  courage,  manhood,  to  thy  soul 

More  nicely  strung,  with  quicker,  keener  sense 

By  God  endowed,  shall  healthful  reverence  wake 

And  restful  confidence  ;  shall  teach  thy  thought 

In  generous  rivalry  to  tempt  the  heights 

Of  intellectual  grandeur  and  to  grasp 

What  best  and  highest  mortal  powers  may  reach, 

Of  knowledge  that  exalts  and  gifts  that  charm. 

Will  he  repress  thee  ?     Ay,  as  summer  suns 

Repress  the  morning  rosebud,  opening  wide 

Its  bosom  to  the  day  and  calling  forth 

Its  sweetest  odors  and  its  loveliest  hues  ! 

Edward  and  Mary,  each  in  each  complete  ! 

Husband  and  wife,  but  one  Humanity  — 

One  conscious  life  full-flowing  —  with  one  heart, 

One  will,  one  end  supreme,  one  blessedness  ! 

'Twas  so  that  God  ordained  domestic  bliss. 

Now,  with  exultant  step,  from  room  to  room 
They  wander,  and  well  pleased  each  trait  survey 
Of  this  their  new  abode —  their  HOME,  when  time 


f 


HOME. 

And  love  and  joys  the  place  hath  sanctified, 
When  sorrow's  shade,  perchance,  has  overhung 
And  hallowed  it,  baptized  with  holy  tears, 
Till  tenderest  memories,  gathered  one  by  one, 
Thick  clustering,  link  each  object  to  the  heart. 
Like  children,  whom  new  toys  or  pleasures  fill 
With  gushing  raptures,  they  with  quick  survey 
Scan  each  apartment ;  try  each  chair  and  lounge  ; 
Look  from  each  window  on  the  prospect  fair ; 
Each  picture  on  the  garnished  walls  observe 
With  keenest  glance,  as  if  with  critic's  eye 
In  Angelo,  or  Raphael,  they  sought 
Some  touch  of  grace  unnoted  e'er  before. 
But  in  each  other,  chiefly,  pleased  they  see 
The  graces  most  transcendent  ;  and  the  light 
Of  love  within  suffuses  each  dear  face, 
And  glows,  as  when  through  some  fair  vase  or  globe 
Translucent,  softly  shines  the  embosomed  flame. 

So  passed  with  silent  feet  the  jocund  Hours. 
Then  while  this  first  day  of  their  wedded  life 
Closed  over  them  serene,  and  twilight  fell, 
Hand  clasped  in  hand  they  sat,  till  daylight  died 
And  set  love's  favorite  star  ;  too  full  their  hearts 
For  words  ;  their  silent  bliss  like  some  sweet  dream. 
Thus  for  a  time.     But  when  the  deepened  shade 
Their  faces  veiled,  it  was  as  if  each  tongue 
Gained  freedom,  and  each  heart,  unlocked, 
Revealed  its  hidden  treasures ;  and  they  talked 


HOME.  149 

As  ne'er  before  of  all  the  vanished  past, 

Of  present  pleasures  and  of  dawning  hopes  ; 

Of  all  that  each  to  each  aspired  to  be 

In  the  great  life-work.     Then  at  last  they  kneeled 

With  hearts  in  true  accord  before  the  throne, 

Their  Father's  throne  of  pure  eternal  love, 

And  in  His  name  who  bore  the  bitter  cross 

Forgiveness  sought  and  breathed  their  praise  to  heaven. 

Angels  !  to  whom  of  God  the  task  is  given 

With  loving  ministries,  though  all  unseen,  to  watch 

And  keep,  with  care  unwearied,  every  hour, 

The  heirs  of  life,  whose  souls  in  love  abide  ; 

Ye  at  that  hour  were  nigh.     Ye  saw  them  bow 

And  worship  ;  heard  those  fervid  lips  declare 

That  God  should  be  their  God  ;  heard  them  entreat 

That  He  whom  heaven  itself,  the  heaven  of  heavens, 

Could  not  contain,  would  with  them  deign  to  dwell, 

Gladdening  their  Home  and  hearts  with  that  same 

smile 

That  gladdens  all  above  ;  would  own  them  His, 
Them  and  their  household,  and  in  trouble's  day, 
Or  when  thick  perils  should  beset  them  round, 
Such  as  must  come  to  all,  comfort  and  rest 
Beneath  the  shadow  of  his  wings  would  give. 
Ye  saw  —  for  ye  have  spiritual  vision  clear  — 
How  rose  their  warm  affections  to  the  throne, 
As  when  of  old  the  smoke  of  incense,  cast 
On  glowing  altars,  rose  in  circling  wreaths, 
And  He  who  dwelt  between  the  cherubim 


HOME. 

i 

Smelled  a  sweet  savor.     Thou  thyself  didst  hear, 
Thou  without  whom  not  e'en  the  sparrow  falls  ; 
The  trust  Thou  didst  accept,  and  didst  command 
Thy  blessing  ;  charge  to  all  good  angels  Thou 
Didst  give,  by  night  and  day,  with  ceaseless  guard 
All  evils  to  forefend,  save  such  as  needs 
Must  be  for  Virtue's  sake,  that  ever  best 
Thrives  while  she  wrestles,  by  thy  grace  made  strong. 
Henceforth,  thrice  happy  pair,  although  for  you 
Each  day  new  cares  may  spring  and  duty  set 
New  tasks,  with  these  shall  come  celestial  Peace, 
And,  where  God  dwells  and  dear  domestic  love, 
Shall  nestle  and  abide.     Earth's  purest  joys, 
Unsating  because  pure,  there  fresh  shall  spring 
As  o'er  you  swiftly  pass  the  fleeting  years  ; 
Till  from  this  earthly  Home  ye  pass  to  heaven. 


PART      II. 


I  SAW  her,  upon  nearer  view, 

A  Spirit,  yet  a  Woman  too  ! 

Her  household  motions  light  and  free, 

And  steps  of  virgin  liberty  ; 

A  countenance  in  which  did  meet 

Sweet  records,  promises  as  sweet ; 

A  creature  not  too  bright  or  good 

For  human  nature's  daily  food  ; 

For  transient  sorrows,  simple  wiles, 

Praise,  blame,  love,  kisses,  tears,  and  smiles. 

WORDSWORTH. 

THERE  are  smiles  and  tears  in  the  mother's  eyes, 
For  her  new-born  babe  beside  her  lies  ; 
O  heaven  of  bliss  !  when  the  heart  o'erflows 
With  the  rapture  a  mother  only  knows  ! 

HENRY  WARE,  Jr. 


PART      II. 

JOY  of  joys  !  the  joy  of  wedded  hearts, 
That  at  God's  shrine  in  youthful  freshness  joined, 
Are  one  for  ever  —  mystery  of  love  ! 
Thenceforth,  like  two  clear  fountains  side  by  side, 
That  pour  their  waters  into  one  bright  stream, 
They  blend  their  free  affections,  till  the  tide, 
In  one  deep  channel,  floweth  ever  on. 
As  in  green  meadows  by  some  river's  side, 
Spring  'neath  the  sun  daisy  and  violet, 
With  many  a  peer,  of  many  a  name  and  tinge, 
And  blossom  numberless  to  grace  the  scene ; 
So  where  that  sacred  current  affluent  glides 
Through  the  charmed  valley  of  domestic  bliss, 
Shoot  forth  all  virtues  that  humanity 
Do  most  adorn  and  beauty  lend  to  life. 
Here  sheltered,  they  may  bud  and  bloom  secure 
From  beasts  that  raven  the  wide  world  abroad ; 
In  rich  luxuriance  grow,  and  crown  thee,  Home, 
With  graces  that  most  charm  the  pure  in  heart. 
No  cynic  eye  thy  secrecy  invades, 


.     HOME. 

To  note,  and  noting  check,  love's  language  true, 
That  half  unconsciously,  with  artless  art, 
And  simplest  act,  some  secret  meaning  tells. 
A  gentle  word  ;  a  glance  ;  perchance  a  kiss  ; 
Or  whate'er  slightest  ministry  may  prove 
Expressive  of  the  fulness  that  o'erflows 
Each  happy  heart  —  so  hours  as  minutes  fly ! 
In  this,  his  fortress,  Love  in  freedom  reigns ; 
Commands,  obeys,  nor  to  distinguish  knows 
Duty  and  pleasure,  since  they  here  are  one. 

Now  wakes  the  morn,  Nature's  great  miracle, 
Repeated  ever,  yet  for  ever  new,  — 
When  start  afresh  the  busy  wheels  of  life, 
That  through  night's  silent  reign  awhile  stogd  still. 
Listen !  what  mingled  sounds  swell  on  the  ear, 
While  kindle  Nature's  slumbers  into  smiles ! 
The  groves,  but  now  so  still,  grow  vocal,  and  pour 

forth 

From  thousand  tuneful  throats  such  melodies 
As  might  e'en  Dulness,  drowsy  maid,  herself 
Awake  to  ecstasy.     June's  unmown  fields 
Stand  tremulous,  all  wet  with  silvery  dew, 
Night's  grateful  benison.     The  clouds  that  hung 
Like  parting  curtains  when  the  day  awoke, 
Transfigured,  glow  as  dipped  in  Tyrian  dyes 
Of  hue  celestial,  —  ruby,  jasper,  gold. 
The  chariot  of  the  King  of  Day  they  seem, 
In  which,  with  pomp  ascending  o'er  the  heights, 


HOME. 

He  climbs  the  noonward  path.     The  wreathing  mists 
That  hide,  and  yet  reveal,  the  stream  that  winds 
Along  the  quiet  valley,  slowly  lift, 
Like  beauty's  veil,  and  show  the  grace  beneath. 
The  voice  of  flocks  and  herds  that  hasten  forth 
Eager  to  taste  the  pasture  blend  confused, 
Yet  please  the  listening  ear.     The  flowery  train, 
With  which  bright  Summer  loves  at  early  dawn 
Her  retinue  to  fill,  spread  o'er  the  fields, 
Entincturing  with  their  breath  the  roving  wind 
That  wooes  them  in  their  sweetness,  while  they  seem, 
As  if  in  conscious  life,  to  glow  with  joy. 
These,  Morning,  are  thy  charms  ;  and  ever  new, 
From  bounding  childhood  down  to  tottering  age, 
To  hearts  with  inborn  tenderness  endowed, 
And  natures  finely  tuned,  they  yield  delight. 

Yet  'tis  when  hearts  most  leap  with  gladsome  life, 
And  passion's  impulses  ;  with  eager  hopes, 
Imaginations,  fancies,  visions,  dreams, 
And,  born  of  these,  emotions,  like  pent  fires 
That  will  not  be  repressed,  but  force  their  way ; 
'Tis  when  youth's  throbbing  pulses  send  their  blood 
Swift  coursing  through  the  veins,  and  every  sense 
And  sensibility  is  quick  and  keen  ; 
'Tis  most  of  all  when  love,  pure,  happy  love, 
So  permeates  with  its  subtile  force  the  breast, 
That  thought  and  purpose,  sympathy  and  will, 
Delighted  own  its  sway  ;  O  yes  !  'tis  then 


HOME. 

That  most  the  world  enrobes  itself  in  light, 
With  beauty  all  suffused ;  that  morn  and  eve, 
Sun,  moon,  and  stars,  and  ocean,  lake,  and  stream, 
'Woods,  hills,  and  fields,  and  all  earth's  features  fair, 
Seem  as  incarnadined  with  roseate  hues, 
And  through  the  liquid  air  there  seems  to  float 
A  glory,  that  intoxicates  the  soul 
With  dreamy  bliss,  and  to  the  softened  heart 
Makes  Nature's  simplest,  lowliest  work  divine. 

'Twas  thus  exultant  and  elate,  that  morn, 
That  Edward  stood,  with  Mary  at  his  side, 
And  from  the  casement  gazed,  with  open  heart 
Drinking  all  sweetness  from  the  radiant  scene, 
Through  every  sense ;  while  in  her  beaming  face 
He  saw  reflected  his  own  tranquil  joy. 
To  both,  on  this  their  wedded  life's  first  day, 
With  omens  kind  begun,  ne'er  looked  before 
The  world  so  beautiful ;  ne'er  God  himself, 
The  Infinite  Creator,  seemed  so  good. 

4 

And  while,  with  the  ascending  sun,  went  up 
From  off  the  dewy  earth  the  morning  mists, 
Rising  like  incense,  from  their  tuneful  lips 
And  hearts  o'erflowing,  rose  their  hymn  of  praise 
With  fervent  orisons  to  listening  Heaven, 
Whither  no  voice  of  love  ascends  in  vain. 

Is  then  the  goal  attained  ?     Is  this  retreat  — 
The  dream  of  many  a  year  at  last  fulfilled  — 


HOME. 

A  bower  of  ease,  in  which,  with  lotus  charm, 
The  past  may  be  forgot ;  the  future,  veiled 
In  golden  haze,  be  all  unquestioned  left, 
And  purpose  high  in  pleasure's  cup  be  drowned? 
No !     In  the  blissful  shades  where  primal  man 
Walked  innocent  with  God,  'twas  given  to  dress 
And  keep  the  garden  —  toil  no  natural  ill. 
For  use,  O  mortal,  God  thy  powers  hath  given, 
And  made  their  use  a  joy.     In  labors  meet, 
Pursued  for  virtue's  ends,  in  good  achieved 
And  triumphs  won  by  sacrifice,  by  love 
Enlarged  and  with  all  generous  yearnings  filled, 
Thou  shalt  such  pleasures  find  as  most  exalt 
Thy  being  and  thy  restless  soul  compose. 
Not  by  ignoble  ease,  but  noble  deeds, 
Thou  dost  reveal  the  spirit  all  divine 
That  in  thee  lives  and  makes  thee  like  to  God, 
And  brother  of  the  angels,  who,  as  winds 
And  flames  of  fire,  are  swift  to  work  His  will ; 
For  thee,  as  them,  to  serve  is  to  be  blest. 

Home  hath  its  tasks.     Each  day  demands  anew 
The  thoughtful  purpose  and  the  skilful  hand. 
Thou,  Mary,  now  crowned  queen  of  this  fair  realm, 
Must  wield  thy  sceptre  and  with  gentle  grace, 
Grace  that  to  thee  is  power,  shouldst  wield  it  well. 
'Tis  thine  this  Home  to  fashion  as  thou  wilt; 
To  give  it  thine  own  impress,  till  it  seems 
Pervaded  by  thy  spirit  —  full  of  thee  ! 


HOME. 

'Tis  thine  to  guard  its  order,  beauty,  health ; 

To  keep  it  ever  free  from  passion's  jar 

And  discord's  grating  tones,  nor  e'er  permit 

The  clamors  of  the  rude  and  noisy  world 

Its  quiet  to  invade.     Here  thou  hast  power, 

By  thine  own  magic  arts,  o'er  all  to  shed 

The  living  air  of  joy,  that  whoso  breathes 

Shall  seem,  as  by  enchantment,  warmed  and  filled 

With  genial  gladness.     Here,  by  thee  beguiled, 

The  troubled  brow  shall  lose  its  furrows,  deep 

By  cares  inwrought ;  the  heavy  heart  grow  light 

And  gather  strength  and  courage  for  new  toils. 

Music  with  sounding  string  and  richest  strain, 

And  Poesy  with  all  her  visions  rare, 

And  kindred  arts  whose  simplest  gifts  may  please, 

Shall  blend  their  charms  to  grace  thy  queenly  state, 

Obedient  to  thy  summons.     Nor  shall  Mirth 

Withhold  her  ringing  laugh  when  thou  shalt  call ; 

But,  with  all  innocent  pleasures  in  her  train, 

Shall  come  to  visit  thee  and  lend  her  aid 

To  make  thy  court  earth's  fairest,  happiest  spot. 

Yet  not  to  listless  ease,  nor  pleasure's  round, 
The  life  inane  that  pampered  luxury 
Elsewhere  delights  to  lead,  thy  realm  be  given. 
This  is  thy  pride,  New  England,  that  thy  homes 
With  healthful  industries  did  e'er  abound. 
Thy  matrons,  in  the  halcyon  days  of  yore, 
Lived  not  alone  to  order  well  their  house 


HOME. 

And  ply  the  needle,  but  with  vigorous  grasp 

Wielded  the  loom ;  and  from  the  distaff  drew 

With  busy  hand  and  foot  the  flaxen  thread ; 

Carded  the  wool  and  twirled  the  humming  wheel. 

O  days  of  sweet  content !     No  need  was  then 

That  commerce  rifle  every  foreign  strand 

From  India  to  Peru,  with  raiment  meet 

Brought  from  afar,  the  household  to  attire. 

If  of  this  glory  thou  no  more  canst  boast 

As  thou  wast  wont,  —  so  times  and  manners  change, — 

Yet  are  thy  dwellings  Industry's  abode ; 

Her  name  is  honored  there.     So  let  it  be, 

Till  Plymouth  Rock  itself  shall  waste  with  years ! 

Yes,  Mary !     If  a  queen  thou  hast  been  crowned, 
Forget  not  that  with  crowns  there  needs  must  come 
Duty  and  care.     Life  opens  now  to  thee 
Its  long  perspective,  and  arrayed  thou  seest, 
Far  stretching  on  before,  its  years  of  toil ; 
Pleasing,  not  terrible,  the  vision  seems. 
Thou  wouldst  not  live  a  cipher.     Thy  young  heart 
Throbs  with  its  eagerness  a  part  to  bear, 
Some  worthy  part,  among  the  good  and  brave 
Who  live  to  conquer  ill,  and  love  the  strifes 
Whose  prize  is  gladness  and  whose  fruits  are  Peace. 
No  weak  ambition  thine  to  send  thy  name 
Resounding,  like  an  echo,  through  the  world ; 
Made  common  on  all  lips,  sullied  perchance 
By  its  rude  contacts,  and  its  fragrance  lost ! 


HQME. 

Wiser,  them  choosest  in  the  tranquil  sphere 

Of  dear,  domestic  peace,  by  duty  done 

To  grave  thine  image  on  the  loving  hearts 

That  gather  round  thee,  to  thine  influence  sweet 

Opening,  as  lilies  on  the  placid  stream 

Bare  their  fair  bosoms  to  the  grateful  sun. 

Nobler  thou  deem'st  the  task,  that  manly  heart 

Now  knit  to  thine,  beyond  all  chance  to  hold 

Loyal  to  thee  and  restful  in  thy  truth ; 

To  make  thyself  his  ever  conscious  want, 

His  life's  chief  joy ;  nor,  striving,  shalt  thou  fail 

O'er  him  to  throw  thy  spells.     Thy  morning  smile 

Will  sweetly  haunt  him  through  the  livelong  hours. 

E'en  'mid  the  din  of  business,  on  his  ear 

Will  steal  thy  tones.     As  thou  each  day  for  him, 

So  he  for  thee,  shall  think  and  plan  and  toil. 

Wealth,  honor,  fame  —  whate'er  of  either  crowns 

His  patient  strivings,  most  of  all  for  thee 

His  thought  will  prize ;  and  nightly  at  thy  feet, 

With  noble  pride,  he  will  exulting  lay 

The  trophies  he  has  won.     Or  if  perchance, 

In  the  rough  contacts  of  a  restless  world, 

Where  thickly,  oft,  keen  shafts  of  malice  fly, 

He  hath  been  wounded  sore ;  if  on  him  fall 

Misfortune's  lowering  shade,  with  doubt  and  dread 

That  tire  the  soul  with  watching,  and  his  heart, 

Firm  though  it  be,  half  faints ;  he  then  to  thee 

Shall  turn  for  strength  and  healing ;  and  thy  voice, 

Thy  cheering  glance,  thy  counsels,  and  thy  prayer, 


HOME. 

Shall  nerve  him  all  anew ;  with  ardor  fired, 
Shall  send  him  to  the  battle's  front  again, 
New  triumphs  in  heroic  strife  to  win. 

Thou  too  shalt  own  his  power.     As  he  to  thee 
Shall  turn  for  love's  deep  tenderness,  and  warm 
Each  day  anew  his  heart  at  the  pure  flame 
That,  as  on  vestal  altars,  ever  glows 
Within  thy  breast ;  so  thou,  when  burdens  press 
Or  dangers  gather  thick,  in  him  shall  see 
Thy  helper  strong  ;  and  ever  by  his  side 
More  surely  thou  shalt  scale  the  rugged  steeps 
And  passes  perilous  that  wait  thy  feet. 
In  his  life  thou  shalt  live,  and  so  become 
Worthy  of  high  companionship  and  meet, 
Sharing  his  struggles,  with  him  to  be  crowned. 
Each  year  shall  thus  thy  being's  measure  fill, 
The  treasures  hidden  in  thy  soul  unlock, 
And  make  thee  rich  in  dignity  and  grace, 
And  all  that  most  exalts ;  till  thou,  the  wife, 
Shalt  stand  confessed  the  glory  of  the  man 
Thy  husband,  made  his  peer ;  by  trial  each 
Proved  to  the  other  equal,  helper,  friend. 

O  lightly  dance  the  hours,  and  swift  the  day 
Speeds  round  its  circuit,  if  the  heart  be  glad ! 
When  with  the  frequent  task  and  press  of  care 
Come  many  a  kindly  impulse,  born  of  love, 
And  many  a  fantasy,  that  warm  the  soul 


HOME. 

With  ever  fresh  delight ;  when  sympathies 

Seem  e'en,  like  odors  that  exhale,  to  rise 

Spontaneous,  and  to  breathe  themselves  abroad 

As  if  from  sheer  exuberance ;  and  there  flits 

Before  affection's  eye  the  image  fair 

Of  a  dear  face  that  absence  cannot  hide ;  — 

Then,  Time,  thou  turn'st  in  vain  thy  flowing  glass, 

To  mark  thy  flight ;  no  note  the  sand  receives ! 

'Tis  so  that  in  that  Home  days  seem  but  hours, 

And  weeks  but  days,  and  months  as  weeks  go  by. 

The  blithesome  wife  guides  all  with  patient  skill, 

And  taste  that  seems  an  instinct ;  fain  to  make 

Parlor  and  library,  each  several  room, 

Each  mantel,  niche,  and  arch,  or  deep  recess, 

Fair  with  chaste  beauty,  grateful  to  his  eye, 

Whose,  look  approving,  oft  as  he  returns, 

For  her  illuminates  and  gladdens  all. 

Soon  gorgeous  Summer  with  light  tread  has  passed ; 

And  Autumn,  laden  with  his  sheaves  and  fruits, 

Enrobed  and  garlanded  with  dying  leaves, 

That  dolphin-like  grow  beautiful  in  death, 

Has  hasted  by,  and  seems  a  vision  gone ; 

Winter,  with  hoary  head  and  frosty  breath, 

Hath  let  loose  all  his  storms,  and  the  free  streams 

And  yielding  earth  hath  fixed  as  adamant. 

Fled  swiftly  all ;  yet,  in  their  passing,  rich 

In  pleasures  innocent  and  duties  done  ; 

In  memories  that,  as  treasures  of  the  soul, 

Shall  live  unfading  down  to  distant  years, 


HOME. 

When,  in  life's  twilight  dim,  quiescent  age 
Backward  shall  turn  to  wander  o'er  the  past. 
Then  trod  again  shall  be  those  evening  strolls 
In  the  still  gloaming,  or  when  climbed  the  moon, 
While  Nature's  kindliest  influence  softly  stole 
O'er  each  fond  heart ;  lived  o'er  again  shall  be 
Those  fireside  hours  when  each  by  turns  or  read, 
Or  eager  listened  to  the  thrilling  tale, 
To  some  old  poet's  lay,  or  ballad  wild, 
Or  History's  roll  of  deeds  and  men  renowned. 

But,  blessed  Home,  these  are  not  all  thy  joys ; 
Yet  undiscovered  are  thy  purest  springs, 
The  streams  untasted  yet  of  holiest  bliss 
From  wedded  love  by  God  ordained  to  flow. 
Though  now,  ye  favored  pair,  your  cup  seem  full, 
A  gladder  hour  is  nigh ;  a  brighter  star 
Than  e'er  before  your  watchful  eyes  did  greet 
Now  rises,  o'er  your  path  to  shed  its  ray. 
Hark !  a  new  sound  arrests  the  quickened  ear ! 
A  voice !  a  cry  !  —  the  cry  of  infancy ! 
Through  every  room  it  thrills  ;  the  very  walls 
That  echo  it,  with  sympathy  seem  touched. 
A  babe  is  born  !     Mother  —  O  hallowed  name ! 
Mary,  that  name  is  thine  !  close  to  thy  heart, 
Quick  beating  with  a  rapture  all  unknown 
Till  this  blest  moment,  thou  dost  fold  and  press 
Thy  first-born  son  !     Thine  anguish  all  forgot, 
A  joy  so  deep,  so  pure,  so  brimming  o'er, 


HOME. 

Possesses  thy  whole  being,  that  to  thee 
It  seems  a  new  existence ;  ay,  so  strange 
Thou  almost  deem'st  it  but  a  blissful  dream 
From  which  thou  may' st  awake.     No  —  no! 
Thou  art  a  mother  to  eternal  years  ! 
Life  of  thy  life,  that  helpless  one  is  born 
Immortal  as  the  angels ;  by  thy  side 
It  shall  still  live  when,  as  old  seers  have  sung, 
The  ancient  heavens  have  been  together  rolled, 
And  earth  hath  perished  by  devouring  fire. 
'Tis  thine,  for  immortality,  to  guard  and  keep 
The  priceless  treasure.     Unto  thee  'tis  given  — 
No  work  of  earth  more  sacred,  more  sublime  — 
That  trembling  spirit  to  insphere  in  love, 
To  fashion  it  by  love's  sweet  ministries, 
Till  faculties  yet  hidden,  full  revealed, 
Declare  it  fellow  of  the  hosts  of  heaven ! 
No  marvel  if  thy  heart,  at  thoughts  like  these, 
Doth  falter,  burdened  with  the  mighty  trust. 

But  not  alone  thou  bear'st  it.     There  is  yet 
Another  holy  name.     Thou,  Edward,  art 
A  Father !  —  name  like  God's  !  a  changeless  name. 
Thy  manly  soul,  warmed  with  paternal  love, 
Calm,  deep,  and  steady  as  a  river's  tide, 
By  this  new  life  shall  feel  its  own  enlarged, 
More  joyous  made  and  richer.     Thou  shalt  find 
In  this,  thy  son,  what  seems  another  self ; 
Another  centre,  round  which  may  revolve 


HOME. 

Thy  best  affections  and  thy  busy  thought. 
E'en  while  his  infant  prattle  wakes  the  smile 
Of  fatherly  delight,  within  thy  breast 
Grave  questionings  shall  rise,  with  hopes  and  fears. 
"  How  with  thee  shall  it  fare,  unconscious  child  — 
How  wilt  thou  bear  thyself,  upon  life's  field 
Where  foe  meets  foe  and  wile  encounters  wile ; 
Where  hapless  thousands  fall,  or,  wounded  sore, 
Survive  but  wrecks,  unfit  for  noble  tasks  ? 
What  destinies  are  thine  ?     Wait  there  for  thee 
The  shouts  of  triumph  ?  or  the  pang  and  shame 
Of  final,  sad  defeat  ?  "     So  wilt  thou  ask ; 
And  then,  with  impulse  new,  thy  soul  will*  rise 
To  the  firm  purpose  that  in  thee  thy  child 
Shall  find  a  model  true,  a  wisdom  pure ; 
Shall  see  a  life  well  lived,  and  with  thee  walk 
As  one  that  breathes  in  virtue's  bracing  air  ; 
As  one  divinely  led,  a  child  of  heaven  ! 

Father  and  Mother !  holiest  names  of  earth  ! 
Lo  !  now,  blest  Home,  thy  circle  made  complete  ! 
Thy  pleasures  full !     Now,  in  each  throbbing  breast, 
All  sweetest  chords,  unstruck  before,  are  touched ; 
Vibrations  exquisite,  that  slept,  awake, 
And  the  whole  compass  of  the  soul  pours  forth 
Harmonious  paeans  ;  as  some  organ  full  — 
Drawn  every  stop  —  its  perfect  volume  swells, 
And  with  its  faultless  chorus  charms  the  ear. 
Yet  o'er  the  world,  to  each  fond  parent's  eye, 


HOME. 

A  nameless  change  has  passed.     A  graver  hue 
Now  tinges  earth  and  sky,  that  laughed  before 
In  flashing  light  and  beauty  ever  gay. 
Not  less  the  light  and  beauty,  nor  the  bliss 
Of  those  beholding  ;  but  all  things  seem  charged 
With  meanings  deeper  far,  that  needs  must  lend 
An  aspect  chastened  and  a  tone  subdued 
To  nature's  face,  softer  yet  richer  too. 
Emotions  now  first  waked,  and  loftier  aims 
Than  e'er  before  had  stirred  the  conscious  soul 
Write  on  each  brow  new  dignity  of  thought. 

As  when*is  read  some  drama,  rarely  wrought 
By  genius'  magic  pen,  the  first  act  past, 
That  with  strange  power  the  attentive  mind  hath 

seized, 

All  note  of  time  is  lost,  or  heeded  not, 
While  act  on  act  succeeds  till  comes  the  last, 
That  disenchants  the  reader  spell-bound  long ; 
So  when  thy  scenes,  dear  Home,  divinely  planned, 
Have  opened  as  if  bathed  in  silver  light, 
Have  cheerily  swept  on  beyond  the  days 
Of  love's  first  raptures  and  the  blissful  hour 
When  felt  the  first-born's  brow  a  mother's  kiss, 
The  plot  fast  thickens,  and  intenser  grow 
The  sympathies  that  fill  and  hold  the  heart, 
Ever  yet  more  content,  while  through  quick  years 
The  changeful  action  hasteth  swiftly  on. 
One  charming  prattler  scarce  hath  learned  to  lisp 


HOME. 

The  names  most  musical  to  infant  tongues, 

Ere  yet  another  cherub-face  appears 

In  the  pleased  household,  and  in  time's  full  round 

Yet  others  still.     Come  added  cares  with  each, 

And  duties  new  ;  but  with  such  gushing  love, 

Such  influx  of  deep  joy,  that  all  forgot 

Or  drowned  in  ecstasies,  or  tranquil  bliss, 

The  weightier  burdens  seem.     Life  richer  grows, 

As,  with  the  years,  fair  sons  and  daughters  rise 

In  beauty  fresh,  like  olive-plants,  to  stand. 


Father  and  Mother  !     How  their  hearts  expand, 
As  large,  and  larger  yet,  becomes  the  sphere 
Where  sweet  affections  reign  ;  where  brother  blends 
His  rougher  vigor  with  a  sister's  grace  ; 
Somewhat  each  borrows  and  each  somewhat  lends, 
And  all,  as  one,  true  filial  honor  pay. 
Home,  thou  art  richer  so  than  piled  with  gold 
And  rarest  gems,  yet  wanting  loving  hearts  ; 
Fairer  than  with  all  garniture  bedecked 
Of  princely  halls,  with  splendors  cold,  and  pride. 
If  matched  with  thine,  all  other  jewels  pale  ; 
E'en  God  himself  with  pleasure  thine  beholds. 
Brothers  and  Sisters  !  what  blest  concord  binds 
Congenial  souls  that  breathe  in  virtue's  air ! 
How  are  they  knit  by  inborn  instincts  kind, 
By  common  blood  and  birth,  by  childhood's  sports 
Together  shared  in  many  a  shining  hour, 
By  transient  griefs,  and  alternations  quick 


HOME. 

Of  hope  and  fear,  that  each  has  felt  with  all, 
All  felt  with  each.     Concord  more  perfect  made 
By  such  slight  discords  as  in  all  have  wrought 
More  watchful  tenderness  of  patient  love. 
More  of  thy  strength,  divine  self-sacrifice ! 

Dwells  then,  O  Earth,  e'en  in  thy  fairest  spot, 
A  perfect  bliss  ?     Giv'st  thou  enduring  joys, 
Where  nothing  fixed  abides  ?     The  circling  years, 
That  swiftly  chase  each  other  in  their  flight, 
Bring  ceaseless  change.    Lo  !  Morning  with  her  dews, 
And  song  and  bloom  ;  still  Evening  with  her  shades  ; 
Sabbaths  with  holy  calm,  that  yield  too  soon 
To  seasons  given  to  rounds  of  wearying  toil ; 
Months  marked  by  waxing  and  by  waning  moons  ; 
Spring  with  its  waking  life,  Summer  arrayed 
In  robes  that  fade  so  soon  ;  Autumn  that  strips 
The  teeming  fields,  and  leaves  them  brown  and  sere  ; 
Winter  that  with  his  storms  deep  buries  all 
Kind  Nature's  smiles  beneath  his  chilling  snows ! 
Each  comes  but  to  depart,  nor  long  abides. 
See  how  like  withering  grass  all  beauty  fades, 
And  strength  to  weakness  turns  ;  how  the  firm  rock 
Slowly,  but  surely,  crumbleth  back  to  dust ; 
How  life's  uncounted  forms  dissolve,  O  Death, 
At  thy  cold  touch  that  blighteth  all  alike  ! 
Hath  earth  one  spot  so  sheltered,  so  secure, 
That  there  no  change,  no  pang,  no  sense  of  loss, 
No  fear  of  ill,  no  sorrow,  e'er  can  come  ? 


HOME. 

No  :  even  within  thy  precincts,  sacred  Home, 
Must  it  at  last  be  known  that  'neath  the  sun 
No  mortal  heart  can  beat  and  feel  no  wound. 


Edward,  what  aileth  thee,  that  anguish  sits 
Where  smiles,  like  glancing  lights,  were  wont  to  play  ? 
Mary,  thy  cheek  is  blanched  ;  thy  restless  eye 
Turns  frequent  here  and  there,  as  if  it  sought 
To  rest  on  one  with  whom  might  come  relief ! 
Ah,  yes  !  a  tender  lamb  of  that  fair  flock 
O'er  which  to  watch  hath  been  by  day,  by  night, 
Thy  life's  chief  joy,  now  by  the  wayside  droops  ; 
Droops  on  from  hour  to  hour ;   no  skill  avails 
•  To  cool  the  fevered  brow,  or  light  again 
The  languid  eyes  that  kindle  now  no  more. 
In  vain,  O  mother,  have  thy  faithful  arms 
Enfolded  him  and  pressed  him  to  thy  heart. 
No  care,  nor  yearning  of  maternal  love, 
Nor  father's  wrestling  hope,  can  stay  the  step 
Of  Sorrow  —  awful  form  !  —  too  clearly  seen 
Advancing ;  in  her  hands  the  cup  of  woe, 
Of  which  'tis  given  all  mortal  lips  to  taste. 

Tis  o'er.     Hark  !     Hark  !  soft  on  the  startled  ear 
Music  unearthly  steals  !  celestial  notes 
And  melodies,  as  from  the  airy  lips 
Of  spirits  all  unseen,  with  mingled  lyres 
Touched  as  by  angel-fingers,  seem  to  fill 
The  tranquil  air.     Ye  cannot  catch  the  strain, 


HOME. 

But  well  ye  deem  that  lovingly  it  greets 

The  gentle  spirit  of  its  clay  disrobed. 

Bear  —  bear  the  cherub,  angels,  to  His  arms 

Who  in  His  mortal  years  such,  lambs  did  fold 

Close  on  His  heart  with  heavenly  grace  and  smiles, 

And  blessed  and  called  them  His,  and  said,  "  Of  such 

Heaven's  holy  kingdom  shall  for  ever  be." 

He  hath  its  name  already  on  His  hands 

Engraven,  and  hath  watched  it  as  His  own  ; 

And  with  a  tenderness  surpassing  thine, 

O  mother,  He  thine  innocent  will  meet, 

Will  soothe  its  fears,  and  win  its  love  with  smiles 

Of  sweetness  so  divine  that  it  shall  need 

No  more  e'en  thy  dear  ministries,  to  fill 

The  measure  of  its  bliss  to  full  content. 

What  thou  hadst  thought  to  teach  it,  He  will  teach, 

Of  wisdom,  goodness,  beauty,  truth,  and  love  ; 

His  care  will  guard  and  train  it  till  the  hour 

When  thou  shalt  come,  the  blessed  day  arrived, 

With  thine  own  eyes,  long  waiting,  to  behold 

The  vision  of  the  Lamb.     Back  to  thine  arms 

Then  He,  the  faithful  Shepherd,  shall  restore 

Thy  child,  —  still  thine,  —  the  same  o'er  which  did  fall 

Thy  bitter  tears  when  lost  to  thee  he  seemed. 

The  same,  yet  not  the  same !  more  beautiful 

Beyond  compare,  e'en  as  the  hyacinth 

That  perfect  stands,  unfolded  every  grace, 

Is  lovelier  than  the  bulb  that  held  it  once, 

And  hid  its  purple  hues.     Ah  !  then  thy  joy 


HOME. 

The  memory  of  thy  grief  at  last  shall  drown ; 
And  with  all  ecstasies  of  thankful  love 
And  praise  admiring,  shall  thy  soul  o'erflow. 

4 

He  lies  upon  the  bier,  pale,  silent,  cold, 
Yet  beauteous  still.     Disease  hath  stolen  away 
But  little  from  the  face  that  late  did  seem 
Almost  a  seraph's.     On  the  marble  brow, 
Chiselled  so  daintily,  so  calm,  so  pure, 
Lies,  as  in  carelessness,  the  flaxen  hair. 
In  tranquil  slumber  one  might  deem  he  rests, 
But  that  the  leaden  eye  a  sleep  bespeaks 
Too  deep  for  waking.     Folded  on  the  breast, 
Now  motionless,  repose  the  snowy  hands 
With  flowers  o'er-strown ;  strange  contrast !   e'en  as 

when 

Thick  clustering  violets  are  seen  to  spring, 
Or  lilies  of  the  valley,  where  the  drifts 
Of  winter  part,  touched  by  the  vernal  sun. 
Mary,  they  saw  thee  come  and  stand  and  gaze, 
As  if  thy  soul,  with  anguish  wrestling  long, 
At  last  had  mastered  its  fierce  inward  strife ; 
As  if  a  self-command  that  awful  seemed 
Had  changed  thee  to  a  statue  ;  —  saw  thee  take 
Thy  last,  last  look,  and  Jieard  thy  lips  pronounce, 
"  My  boy  —  thou'rt  mine  no  more  !     I  give  thee  back 
To  God  who  gave  thee !     O  farewell !  farewell ! " 
So  triumphed  faith  when  anguish  wrung  the  heart ; 
And,  as  the  rainbow  spans  the  cloud  o'erpast, 


HOME. 

Emblem  of  peace  that  waits  beyond  the  storm, 
Thou  saw'st  with  tranquil  eye  dark  sorrow's  gloom 
Irradiate  with  the  glow  of  heaven's  own  light, — 
The  pledge  of  days  serene  beyond  these  tears, 
The  harbinger  of  healing,  rest,  and  peace. 


PART     III. 


WOULDST  thou  from  sorrow  find  a  sweet  relief? 

Or  is  thy  heart  oppressed  with  woes  untold  ? 

Balm  wouldst  thou  glther  for  corroding  grief? 

Pour  blessings  round  thee  like  a  shower  of  gold ! 

'Tis  when  the  rose  is  wrapped  in  many  a  fold 

Close  to  its  heart,  the  worm  is  wasting  there 

Its  life  and  beauty  ;  not  when  all  unrolled, 

Leaf  after  leaf,  its  bosom  rich  and  fair 

Breathes  freely  its  perfumes  throughout  the  ambient  air. 

CARLOS  WILCOX. 

THERE  blend  the  ties  that  strengthen 

Our  hearts  in  hours  of  grief, 
The  silver  links  that  lengthen 

Joy's  visits  when  most  brief! 
Then  dost  thou  sigh  for  pleasure  ? 

Oh,  do  not  widely  roam  ! 
But  seek  that  hidden  treasure 

At  Home,  dear  Home  ! 

BERNARD  BARTON. 


PART     III. 

f~\  SACRED  spot  of  earth,  where  gentle  hands 

^^^     Have  laid  the  fragile  form,  so  late  suffused 

With  life's  first  glow,  beneath  the  friendly  mould ; 

To  slumber  undisturbed  where  daisies  spring 

Unbidden,  and  the  turf,  with  every  dawn, 

Seems  wet  afresh  with  tears  !     There  by  fond  hands 

Ivy  and  myrtle  have  been  taught  to  twine  ; 

The  snow-drop  spotless  and  forget-me-not 

To  bloom  in  simple  beauty,  —  emblems  meet 

Of  purity  and  of  immortal  love. 

The  friendly  trees  their  drooping  boughs  o'erhang 

As  if  in  sympathy.     The  summer  birds 

Chant  tender  carols  through  the  shining  hours  ; 

And  mingled  lights  and  shades  so  softly  blend, 

That  neither  garish  day  nor  gloom  doth  reign, 

But  grateful  twilight  lingers  ever  there. 

Dear,  oft-frequented  scene  !     'Tis  not  that  here 

The  sorrowing  heart  deems  its  lost  treasure  hid. 

The  living  spirit  that  once  blithely  wore 

The  mortal  robe  that  wasteth  here  to  dust, 


HOME. 

Dwells  far,  far  hence,  it  knows,  'neath  kinder  skies. 

But  memories  all  undying  centre  where 

This  dust  reposes,  quick  to  stir  anew  ; 

Oft  as  with  lingering  steps  this  scene  is  trod, 

The  past  is  lived  again  ;  its  bliss  renewed  ; 

And  grief  becomes  but  tenderness  and  hope, 

Till  o'er  the  heart  there  steals  a  holy  calm, 

And  balm  from  heaven  hath  healed  its  bleeding  wounds. 

Toil  is  no  curse  to  mortals  ;  nor  the  cares 
That  make  the  price  for  life's  best  comforts  paid. 
Both  have  a  charm  —  when  on  the  saddened  heart 
Despondency  and  griefs,  like  clouds,  have  hung 
Till  into  starless  night  day  seems  transformed  — 
The  tide  of  ever  busy  thought  to  turn  ; 
That  winding  ever  farther,  farther  on, 
Behind  it  leaves  the  dreariness  and  wastes  ; 
And  as,  by  slow  degrees,  new  visions  rise, 
New  scenes  and  aspects  woo  and  win  the  soul, 
Rekindle  drooping  hope  and  wake  new  joy  ; 
Till  —  how  one  knows  not  —  all  along  life's  way 
Sweet  landscapes  smile  again  and  days  are  glad  ; 
Welcome  is  duty's  call,  and  future  years 
Invite  to  high  endeavor,  as  they  spread 
Bright  vistas  opening  far  ;  and  every  pulse 
With  healthful  beating  tells  the  heart  is  strong. 
Thou  that  hast  suffered,  brood  not  o'er  thy  woes, 
But  to  thy  tasks !     Thy  losses  and  thy  pangs 
Forget  in  cheerful  toil  ;  thyself  forget. 


HOME. 

There  be  who  love  thee  yet ;  whom  thou  dost  love  ; 
For  God  and  these  still  be  it  thine  to  live  ; 
And,  all  unwearied,  in  love's  ministries, 
Go  labor  on  and  in  thy  works  rejoice. 

Edward  and  Mary !  for  you  gather  yet 
Around  the  household  board  a  ruddy  band, 
Like  cluster  roses  that  upon  one  stalk 
Hang  in  their  sweet  luxuriance  ;  some  in  bud, 
Some  just  revealing  a  first  crimson  line  ; 
Some  half  unfolded,  some  in  their  full  bloom ; 
One  charming  whole,  of  diverse  charms  combined. 
'Tis  yours  o'er  infancy  kind  watch  to  keep  ; 
To  listen  to  the  words  half-formed  that  fall 
From  ruby  lips  just  stammering  to  pronounce; 
And  childhood's  shout  and  laugh,  perchance  its  cries, 
Since  showers  and  sunshine  fill  its  changeful  day. 
'Tis  yours  to  note  youth's  impulses,  that  swell 
With  passion's  rising  flood  the  heaving  breast 
That  resteth  not,  but  yearns  with  vague  desire ; 
That  needs  kind  sympathy  and  wisest  skill 
To  cool  the  fever  of  fresh  life  that  throbs 
With  pulses  too  intense,  and  shape  aright 
The  forming  purpose  and  aspiring  aim. 
To  these  high  tasks  returned,  your  faces  wear 
A  smile  of  peace  again,  and  hope's  bright  glow. 
The  missing,  not  forgot,  hath  been  transformed 
Into  a  precious  jewel  of  the  soul, 
That,  in  the  dear  fidelity  of  love, 


HOME. 

With  many  a  pensive,  many  a  pleasing  thought, 
Is  kept  with  memory's  holiest  trusts  enshrined. 
Sometimes,  perchance,  when  on  the  vacant  chair, 
Some  childish  plaything  needed  now  no  more, 
Or  garment  laid  aside,  the  eye  may  rest, 
A  sudden  tear,  a  shaded  brow,  may  tell 
How  in  the  constant  heart  still  lives  the  lost. 
Yet  steadily  again  life's  current  glides 
Along  the  wonted  channels,  where  the  banks 
Wave,  as  of  old,  with  woods  and  summer  flowers, 
And  bees  hum  softly,  and  the  west  wind  plays, 
And  earth  and  skies  once  more  are  robed  in  light. 

Childhood  !  thy  bliss  who  hath  not  sung  that  e'er 
The  harp  to  tender  melodies  hath  touched  ? 
What  is  thy  secret  ?     What  thy  hidden  joys, 
So  pure,  so  full,  that  left  far,  far  behind, 
In  memory  still  they  live  ;  yea,  dearer  seem, 
As  hoary  age  through  gliding  years  steals  on  ? 
E'en  thy  glad  morning  is  not  without  clouds 
That  cast  their  gloomy  shades.     Not  all  unwet 
With  tears  thy  glowing  cheeks ;  thy  heart  not  free 
From  transient  disappointments  that  corrode  ; 
From  chafing  impulse  and  oft-crossed  desire. 
Yet  art  thou  happy  as  the  bounding  fawn 
That  all  day  long,  beside  the  lonely  lake 
And  'neath  the  arches  of  the  forest  deep, 
Gambols  at  will,  nor  knows  or  want  or  fear. 
Thy  griefs  abide  not ;  soon  the  shadows  flee 


HOME, 

That  cross  thy  path,  and  sunbeams  gild  again 
Whate'er  thine  eye  beholds,  till  all  the  world 
For  thee  in  gladness  laughs  and  sings  for  joy ! 
As  yet  thou  canst  not  know  the  fretting  cares, 
The  toils  and  weariness  and  bodeful  fears, 
The  buffetings  with  dark  misfortune's  tide, 
O'erwhelming  when  too  late  for  all  retrieve. 
These  wait  on  ripened  years.     'Tis  meet  that  thou, 
Dear  child,  to  whom  thy  ignorance  is  bliss, 
Shouldst  drink  the  cup  of  innocent  delight 
Placed  at  thy  lips,  nor  on  the  future  draw 
For  aught  to  check  thy  heart's  exulting  play. 

As  in  yon  garden  tastefully  inh edged 
And  consecrate  to  beauty,  rarest  flowers 
Of  many  a  name  thick  clustering  fill  the  place 
That  seems  a  realm,  a  kingdom,  all  their  own, 
Blending  in  rich  variety  their  charms ; 
E'en  so,  O  genial  Home  —  secluded,  made 
By  Heaven's  kind  law  the  nursery  of  joys 
Only  within  thy  loved  enclosure  known  — 
In  thee  all  healthful  pleasures,  ever  fresh, 
Should  spring  abundant,  and  luxuriant  grow 
Filling  all  days  and  hours  and  months  and  years 
With  influences  that  wake  and  warm  and  cheer ; 
That  send  exhilaration  through  the  soul, 
And  with  refreshment  bring  a  calm  content. 
Father  and  mother !  yours  the  task  to  plan, 
With  tireless  constancy  and  thoughtful  skill, 


HOME. 

That  boy  nor  girl,  for  lack  of  joy  at  home, 

Shall  from  the  hearthstone  turn  and  wander  far 

To  quench  at  poisoned  streams  the  thirst  they  feel. 

Brothers  and  sisters  —  let  each  have  their  sports 

By  instinct  chosen  oft,  if  choice  be  given  ; 

Sports  such  as  best  befit  each  sex  and  age 

By  nature's  steady  laws  and  inborn  taste  ; 

With  others  that  together  shared  shall  best 

Give  fresh,  young  hearts  delight,  and  make  them  bound 

All  joyously  with  sympathetic  bliss. 

Nor,  O  ye  parents,  let  your  hearts  grow  old  ; 
As  oft  your  breasts  have  throbbed  with  childish  glee 
And  youthful  ardors,  yet  remembered  well ; 
Have  felt  the  restlessness  of  keen  desire 
That  seemed  a  quenchless  thirst ;  still  let  them  hold 
Kind  fellowship  with  new-born  life  and  joy. 
Be  ye  with  childhood,  children  ;  youth,  with  youth  ; 
Nor  deem  that  aught  of  dignity  or  grace 
Is  lost  by  nursery  raptures,  heard  afar 
In  echoing  laughs  and  shouts  from  lisping  tongues  ; 
Scorn  not  to  tell  or  hear  the  thrice-told  tales 
Of  fairies,  giants,  and  all  monsters  dire, 
And  chant  quaint  melodies,  tradition's  trust, 
Safe  handed  down  through  generations  dead ! 
Fail  not,  when  merry  girlhood  courts  thy  smile 
With  lips  carnationed  and  her  locks  of  gold, 
To  greet  the  baby-house  and  black-eyed  dolls, 
Dressed  and  undressed,  and  nursed  through  blissful 
hours. 


HOME. 

Frown  not  when  roisterous  boys  or  toss  or  strike 

The  bounding  ball,  or  leap  or  run,  or  ride 

The  mastered  steed,  that,  as  the  rider,  loves 

The  rushing  course  ;  or  when  with  ringing  steel 

The  polished  ice  they  sweep  in  winter's  reign. 

All  pleasing  pastimes,  innocent  delights, 

That  gladden  hearts  yet  simple  and  sincere, 

Let  love  parental  gather  round  the  Home, 

And  consecrate  by  sharing  ;  let  it  watch 

With  kind,  approving  smiles  each  merry  game 

That  quickens  youthful  blood,  and,  in  the  joy 

That  beams  from  crimson  cheeks  and  sparkling  eyes, 

Its  own  renew,  and  live  its  childhood  o'er. 

So  shall  the  scenes  where  life's  fleet-footed  years 

Glide  by  with  noiseless  speed  at  last  become 

Memory's  rich  treasure-field,  be  all  o'erspread 

As  with  a  radiant  flood  of  golden  sheen  ; 

Such  as,  on  cloudless  days  in  eastern  climes, 

With  the  still,  hazy  air  seems  interfused, 

Enrobing  with  a  dreamy  loveliness 

All  visible  things,  transfigured  in  its  glow. 

'Tis  so  that  tottering  age,  with  fading  eye, 

Still  sees  thee,  childhood,  glorious  as  of  old, 

And  of  all  earth's  delights  thine  last  forgets. 

But  childhood's  glory  fades  ;  its  visions  change : 
For  sweet  simplicity  and  guileless  trust, 
Come  youth's  unrest,  and  thoughts  that  wider  sweep, 
With  keener  search  and  wishes'  reaching  far  ; 


HOME. 

And  yearnings  vague  that  crave  they  know  not  what ; 

Imaginations  of  all  shapes  and  hues 

That  make  earth  seem  a  dreamland,  and  bright  hopes 

That  in  all  gorgeous  tints  life's  future  limn. 

Deep  in  the  breast  the  sense  of  powers  divine 

Yet  slumbering,  stirs  the  eager  soul  with  thirst 

For  wisdom's  living  streams,  impels  to  curb 

The  impulses  by  pleasure's  luring  call 

Awakened  oft,  and  give  to  high  pursuit  ' 

And  silent  solitude  where  knowledge  dwells, 

Long  years  whose  disciplines  may  manhood  yield. 

Yes,  Learning,  'tis  of  Home  that  thou  art  born  ! 

Its  needs  demand  thee  and  its  tastes  create. 

Thy  schools,  thy  classic  halls  and  tranquil  shades, 

Haunted  with  memories  of  the  nobly  great, 

Whose  storied  deeds  and  names  that  cannot  die, 

The  pride  of  ages  dead,  enchantment  lend 

That  seems  like  perfume  breathed  on  all  the  air ; 

Where  linger  still  the  echoes  ever  sweet 

Of  lays  renowned  that  Time's  great  bards  have  sung  ; 

Where  yet  resound  the  words  of  fire  pronounced 

By  orators  who  spake  when  balanced  hung 

On  the  swift  moment  destinies  sublime  ; 

Where,  in  fit  gallery  and  alcove  ranged, 

Stand  art's  grand  triumphs,  wisdom's  treasured  lore, 

All  wonders  most  divine  by  genius  wrought, 

Of  centuries  the  lesson  and  the  light  ;  — 

These  —  these  of  household  culture  are  the  fruit ; 

Culture  that  early,  as  with  heaven's  own  fire, 


HOME. 

Inflames  the  generous  heart ;  refines,  exalts, 
And  with  ambition's  purest  glow  inspires 
The  youthful  soul,  not  yet  by  sense  enchained.1 

O  spectacle  divine,  where,  heart  to  heart, 
Father  and  mother,  sons  and  daughters,  blend 
Their  inborn  sympathies  in  concert  blest ! 
One  body  well  compact  by  love's  great  law ; 
Each  member  fit,  in  its  own  native  grace, 
To  fill' the  measure  of  the  perfect  whole. 
Envies  and  jealousies,  ye  grow  not  here 
Indigenous,  as  hated  nettles  spring 
'Mid  rows  of  marjory  and  beds  of  thyme ; 
Or,  if  ye  start,  —  since  e'en  earth's  fairest  spot 
Yields  still  some  noxious  weeds,  —  are  quick  subdued, 
As  all  unmeet  to  root  and  flourish  thus. 
Oft  by  attrition  in  its  torrent-bed 
The  precious  gem  may  wear  its  roughness  down, 
Till  from  its  polished  surface  back  the  beam 
That  brightly  falls  is  thrown  as  bright  again  ; 
So  generous  souls  in  daily  contact  lose 
The  excrescences  of  nature  and  the  faults 
That,  left  unheeded,  must  ere  long  become 
Deformities,  of  God  and  man  abhorred. 

As  year  on  year  fulfils  its  circling  round, 
Thou,  Edward,  notest  with  a  father's  pride 
Thine  Edith's  maiden  charms  that  ripen  fast 

1  Appendix,  note  D. 


HOME. 

Toward  fairest  womanhood.     Oft  o'er  thy  heart 

Steals  there  a  tranquil  joy,  a  deep  delight, 

As  'neath  thy  watchful  eye,  that  wearieth  not, 

New  dignity  and  grace  her  form  invest ; 

New  beauty  tints  her  cheek,  new  thoughtfulness 

Sits  on  her  brow  and  lends  her  beaming  eye 

A  deeper  meaning  and  a  milder  fire. 

Thou,  Mary,  on  thine  Alfred  lov'st  to  fix 

With  tenderness  profound  thy  earnest  gaze. 

God-given  was  he  in  place  of  thy  first-born, 

That  Christ  desired  and  angels  bore  away ! 

So  doubly  dear  ;  and  now  that  in  his  face 

Thou  readest  thoughtfulness,  and  seest  revealed 

Reason's  calm  light,  and  wakened  intellect, 

Imagination,  hope,  and  purpose  high  ; 

Now  that  with  quickened  heart-throbs  thou  dost  mark 

His  manly  form  and  mien  ;  whene'er  thou  wilt, 

Dost  find  in  him  companionship,  his  arm 

Thy  strong  support ;  his  words  a  daily  joy  ; 

Thy  mother's  heart  exults,  nor  would  exchange 

Its  deep,  deep  bliss  for  Ophir's  glittering  heaps, 

Or  widest  fame  'mid  noisy  contests  won. 

Thy  woman's  nature  rests  with  full  content 

In  these  thy  household  treasures  —  asks  no  more. 

How  beautiful  art  thou,  O  Youth  !     Not  lost 
As  yet  in  thee  the  sweetness  and  the  grace 
Of  childhood  left  behind  ;  but,  richer  far, 
Thou  wearest  graces  that  are  all  thine  own. 


HOME. 

More  full  the  sympathies  that  warm  thy  breast ; 
Thy  thought  more  searching;  keener  far  thy  ken  — 
The  vision  of  the  soul  athirst  to  know 
Where  hides  true  wisdom ;  larger  thy  desires 
Far  wandering,  like  the  wanton  summer-winds 
That  rove  o'er  regions  wide  and  dalliance  hold 
With  all  sweet  odors,  ever  restless  still ; 
Loftier  thy  purpose,  more  sublime  thy  thought 
Than  childhood  ever  knew,  or  e'er  could  know. 
A  youthful  band  —  their  souls  all  closely  knit 
In  the  pure  love  that  of  one  blood  and  birth 
By  nature's  law  doth  ever  richly  spring, 
As  from  full  fountains,  in  the  cloistered  Home, 
A  scene  present  on  which  e'en  tteaven  must  smile. 

Nor  moves  the  round  of  household  pleasures  on 
In  dull  monotony  that  needs  must  cloy. 
Home  hath  its  festal  days  —  its  holy  times  — 
When  fresh  delights  exhilarate ;  when  Mirth 
Seizes  the  sceptre  and  asserts  her  reign, 
And  Laughter,  her  prime  minister,  she  bids 
Wake  rapturous  echoes  all  her  realm  around ! 
When  on  affection's  altar,  with  one  will, 
The  gathered  household  their  fresh  offerings  lay ; 
Intent  that  there,  like  holy  altar-fire, 
Love's  quenchless  flame  may  ever  brightly  burn. 

Dear  old  Thanksgiving !     How  the  hallowed  word 
Restores,  as  in  a  moment,  vanished  years  ! 


HOME. 

How  back  to  life  the  honored  dead  it  calls, 
Whose  hoary  heads  and  venerable  forms 
The  bounteous  board  of  old  were  wont  to  grace ! 
They  seem  to  come  and  sit  and  srnile  again, 
And  with  their  children's  children  share  the  joy. 
How  brothers,  sisters,  all  companions  dear 
Of  life's  unclouded  morn,  together  flow 
From  regions  wide  remote,  and  young  again, 
At  least  in  heart,  renew  the  scenes  of  yore ! 
This  from  the  crowded  city ;  that  from  where 
The  Prairie's  naked  bosom  tempts  the  plough ; 
Perchance  another,  from  beyond  the  flood 
Where  Mississippi  pours  his  torrent  down ; 
Or  from  fair  Florida,  beneath  whose  skies 
Magnolias  spotless  open  all  their  charms,. 
And  orange-blossoms  scent  the  tranquil  air. 
But,  come  they  whencesoe'er,  they  come  to  prove 
Unlost,  unweakened,  the  old  love  of  Home. 
Joy  !  joy  !  Thanksgiving  that,  o'er  all  the  land, 
To-day  a  Nation's  benison  thou  art. 

And  thou,  too,  ancient  festival,  whose  name 
A  word  of  joy  through  centuries  hath  lived  — 
Christmas  !  thou  com'st  with  carols  as  of  old 
When  angels  chanted,  'neath  the  midnight  sky, 
"  Glory  to  God  on  high,  good  will  to  men !  " 
Methinks  angelic  choirs  beyond  the  stars 
Still  warble  round  Messiah's  throne  the  strain. 
Earth  well  may  lift  her  voice  in  jubilant  praise, 


HOME. 

And  all  true  hearts  exulting  greet  the  day 
That  tells  the  world  anew  the  Christ  is  born ! 
Let  holly,  box,  and  fir  tree  lend  their  boughs, 
Symbols  of  life  immortal,  to  adorn 
Each  Christian  temple.     Ring,  ring  out,  ye  bells, 
Sweet  chimes  that  shall  afar  glad  echoes  start ! 
Then  while  the  very  air  with  love  and  peace 
Seems  all  surcharged,  within  thee,  happy  Home, 
Childhood  and  youth  and  hoary  age  may  tell, 
With  many  a  gift  and  many  a  token  kind, 
With  chastened  merriment  and  generous  cheer, 
How  beat  in  holy  unison  all  hearts. 
O  Babe  of  Bethlehem !  to  Thee  we  owe 
Home's  dearest  ministries  and  purest  bliss, 
Not  less  with  mortal  pleasures  innocent, 
Than  mortal  pains  and  tears,  thy  loving  heart 
Hath  sympathy,  for  Thou  art  Goodness'  self ! 

Next  for  the  household  comes  the  opening  year 
With  greetings  fervent,  wishes  true  and  kind, 
From  each  to  each,  of  countless  happy  days ! 
With  the  old  year  deep  buried  all  neglects, 
Now  friendship's  record,  as  on  a  fresh  page 
Unsullied,  the  New  Year  once  more  begins. 
As  with  a  chastened  tenderness,  farewell 
Is  said  to  the  departed  months,  whose  round, 
On  Time's  great  calendar,  has  been  fulfilled. 
Age,  ripe  in  piety,  with  faith  confirmed, 
All  thankfully  recalls  the  past,  yet  still 


HOME. 

Looks  onward  to  the  Father's  House  on  high, 
Well  pleased  the  golden  gates  more  near  to  sec. 
Childhood  and  youth,  exultant,  note  how  fast 
Years  bear  them  forward  to  the  longed-for  scenes, 
So  gorgeous  to  their  thought,  of  life's  broad  stage, 
On  which  parts  all  heroic,  as  they  dream, 
Wait  for  their  entrance,  pre-ordained  for  them ! 
Nowhere,  as  where  abides  domestic  love, 
So  richly  "  Happy  "  dawneth  the  New  Year. 

But  best  and  dearest  to  the  household  comes 
The  day  of  holy  rest,  —  God's  sabbath  day ; 
From  the  world's  early  morning  consecrate 
To  piety  and  peace,  to  prayer  and  praise, 
And  all  the  sanctities  of  worship  paid  ; 
To  pleasures  such  as  days  of  toil  know  not ; 
To  love,  the  grace  that  the  whole  law  fulfils,  — 
Mother  of  virtues,  —  of  all  thoughts  and  deeds 
That  to  the  pure  in  heart  divinest  seem, 
And  e'en  to  earth  some  semblance  lend  to  heaven.    » 
With  the  fresh  morn,  while  grateful  stillness  reigns,  — 
Stopped  the  great  treadmill  of  the  world  awhile,  — 
Parents  and  children  meet  with  greetings  kind 
Around  the  wonted  altar.     The  calm  hour 
No  haste  demands ;  and  first  to  heaven  ascends 
In  one  sweet  harmony,  from  joyful  lips, 
The  hymn  that  to  the  ear  of  Love  divine 
Tells  of  each  heart's  deep,  fervent  thankfulness, 
More  welcome  than  frankincense.     Then  the  sire, 


HOME, 

Priest  of  the  family  by  God  ordained, 
From  prophet  old,  or  Psalmist,  words  of  life 
Reads  reverently,  as  if  afresh  they  Came 
From  God's  own  lips  to  gladden  trusting  hearts  ; 
Or  lessons  from  His  mouth  who,  Light  of  men, 
Spake  as  no  mortal  tongue  e'er  spake  besides  ; 
•  Or  from  the  story  of  His  mighty  deeds, 
His  lowliness,  and  grace  that  reached  to  all, 
His  shameful  cross  and  wondrous  sacrifice  ! 
Then  at  the  mercy-seat  together  bowed, 
One  tender  voice,  the  worship  of  all  hearts 
Pours  forth  in  utterance  simple  and  sincere ; 
Forgiveness  asks  for  common  faults  confessed, 
And  praise  heartfelt,  for  blessings  shared,  presents 
To  Him  without  whom  not  a  sparrow  falls ; 
Life,  health,  and  comfort,  all  most  dear,  commits, 
For  coming  days,  to  His  o'erwatching  care  ; 
And  'neath  the  shadow  of  His  wings  to  dwell 
Entreats,  one  brief  request  including  all. 
So  pass  the  peaceful  hours.     From  morn  till  eve 
Pleasures  succeeding  pleasures  fill  the  day. 
When  the  glad  bells  up  to  God's  temple  call, 
With  one  consent  the  household  join  the  throng 
That  tread  the  hallowed  aisles,  their  hearts  the  while 
Drawn  to  each  other  closer,  while  they  rise 
God-ward  in  prayer  and  song,  and  hear  the  word 
That  life  eternal  tells.     Then  home  returned, 
With  books,  and  cheerful  talk,  and  songs  that  stir 
All  pure  affections,  the  loved  day  they  close. 


HOME. 

Of  sabbaths  such  as  this  the  memories  kept 
Among  the  heart's  best  riches,  shall  remain 
Till  earth's  last  week  shall  end  and  brightly  dawns 
The  endless  sabbath,  the  sweet  rest  of  heaven. 

A  time  for  all  things,  —  thus  the  wise  man  spake,  — 
And  beautiful  in  its  own  time  is  each. 
Not  always,  Edward,  round  thy  bounteous  board 
Will  greet  thee  youthful  faces  wreathed  in  smiles ; 
Not  always,  Mary,  will  thy  quick  ear  hear 
Mother!  —  earth's  dearest  word,  —  from  morn  till  eve 
Fall  lovingly  from  many  a  coral  lip. 
Ye  have  been  sowing  long.     With  line  on  line, 
Lessons  of  wisdom  and  of  heavenly  truth, 
No  season  lost,  it  hath  been  yours  to  pour 
Into  fresh  opening  souls,  that  to  receive 
What  from  your  lips  distilled  were  ever  fain. 
Have  ye  not  sought  to  form  for  virtue's  tasks, 
To  shape  to  some  true  life-work,  these  the  sons 
And  daughters  given  from  God,  your  highest  trust  ? 
Draws  nigh  the  reaping-time.     What  most  your  hearts 
For  many  a  year  have  wished,  your  eyes  shall  see,  — 
Your  children,  girded  for  life's  contests  high, 
By  Providence  led  forth.     For  this  ye  prayed. 
Arrows  not  always  in  the  quiver  rest ; 
Fledged  birds  not  in  the  nest  for  ever  stay ; 
Arrow  or  bird,  each  at  its  hour  must  fly. 
Onward,  still  onward,  is  the  call  divine 
That  all  of  mortal  birth  must  hear  and  heed. 


HOME. 

'Tis  so  that  pleasures  ever  new  are  born 

Out  of  new  issues  and  oft-shifting  scenes ; 

E'en  things  that  most  delight,  unchanged  should  sate 

From  sheer  monotony.     Thy  pleasures,  Home, 

Can  only  live  through  never-ceasing  flow ; 

As  brooks  that  hasten  leaping,  babbling  on, 

Are  pure  as  crystal  ever ;  but,  pent  up, 

Forbid  their  course  to  run,  do  stagnate  soon, 

And  with  green  ooze  breed  noisomeness  and  death. 

Ay,  parents,  send  them  forth,  as  God  shall  call,  — 

Your  best  and  dearest,  —  not  with  fainting  heart 

And  tears  regretful  at  what  Home  must  lose ; 

But  thankfully,  since  unto  you  'tis  given 

To  God  and  man  offerings  so  rich  to  bring. 

The  gentle  Edith,  ripe  in  maiden  charms, 
Yet  more  and  more  the  magic  power  reveals 
Of  cultured  womanhood.     Not  wholly  lost 
The  witching  artlessness  of  childish  years, 
The  airy  freedom,  the  instinctive  grace, 
So  winsome,  till  by  fashion's  hateful  code 
To  chilling  stiffness  changed.     Radiant  she  moves 
Amid  Home's  cheerful  band,  in  beauty's  light, 
As  floats  a  planet  in  the  evening  sky, 
Bright  and  still  brightening  as  it  higher  climbs. 
No  bird  of  Paradise,  of  plumage  gay, 
In  thought  or  wish  she  seems ;  no  trifler  weak, 
"With  vain  conceit  inflate,  self-conscious,  quick 
With  fluttering  pulse  to  note  each  watchful  glance 


HOME. 

Of  kindling  admiration.     Such  as  these, 

Ye  who  would  find  may  seek  in  Fashion's  halls, 

Where  dwell  not  Home's  simplicity  and  truth. 

Yet  on  her  brow  she  wears,  all  clearly  writ, 

Intelligence  ;  and  in  her  beaming  eyes, 

The  joyousness  that  tells  a  guileless  breast 

And  yet  unsounded  depths  of  hidden  love. 

Parental  hearts  grow  warm  at  sight  of  her, 

And  brothers  look  and  worship.     O,  there's  naught 

Can  touch  so  tenderly  the  restive  soul, 

Of  youthful  impulses  o'erflowing  full, 

And  urged  by  uncurbed  will  and  passion's  power 

The  tempter's  voice  to  heed  and  choose  the  wrong, 

As  a  fond  sister's  love,  that  wooes  and  wins, 

Attempers  what  is  wayward  unto  good, 

And  by  its  own  pure  effluence  maketh  pure. 

Thou,  Edith,  art  e'en  as  the  warm  south  wind, 

That,  from  the  lips  of  Spring  breathed  o'er  the  fields 

Whate'er  is  loveliest,  waketh  into  life 

With  silent  power,  till  all  are  robed  in  bloom. 

While  Home  thou  blessest,  thou  thyself  art  blest. 

Goodness,  to  beauty  joined,  is  like  the  flame 
That  from  the  light-house  on  some  towering  cliff 
O'er  the  wild  waters  throws  its  beams  afar 
At  nightfall,  welcome  to  the  wanderer's  eye. 
Its  glory  streams  abroad,  nor  can  be  hid ; 
But  many  an  eye  beholds  it  and  admires. 
Ah !  maiden,  thou  that  in  thy  freshness  wear'st 


HOME. 

With  modesty  and  gentleness  and  grace 
The  charms  that  nature  gave  and  goodness  lends, 
With  power  these  charms  invest  thee,  —  power  per 
chance 

Beyond  thy  utmost  thought,  —  to  scatter  wide 
Influence  that  light  and  guidance  both  shall  be 
To  many  a  heart  sincere,  that  so  inspired 
Shall  be  by  thee  to  nobler  virtue  won. 
The  power  to  bless  by  charming,  —  wondrous  gift ! 
How  rich  who  hath  it !  how  made  like  to  God ! 
Woman,  this  most  exalts  thee  and  adorns ; 
Gives  thee  a  sovereign  sway,  if  so  thou  wilt ; 
And  makes  thee  as  a  spirit  of  the  skies. 

To  all,  such  Edith  seemed.     But  most  to  one, 
Young  Arthur,  from  her  childhood  playmate*,  friend, 
Sharer  of  frolic  hours,  and  o'er  the  fields 
And  thro'  the  shadowy  woods,  when  summer  glowed, 
Leader  of  many  a  ramble.     Always  kind, 
Homeward  from  school  her  satchel  oft  he  bore, 
And  through  the  winter  snow  her  pathway  trod ; 
Or  cross  the  swollen  brook,  with  friendly  hand, 
By  the  rude  stepping-stones,  he  safely  led. 
With  changing  years  advanced  to  manhood  now, 
Transformed  he  seems,  yet  not  another  made. 
In  manners  courteous,  almost  distant  grown, 
Yet  is  he  near  her  oft,  with  calm  content 
On  his  fair  face  clear  written,  and  an  eye 
That  back  reflects  her  glance,  as  she  for  him 

»3 


HOME. 

And  he  for  her  some  secret  fain  would  guard ; 
As  if  by  some  keen  instinct  each  did  read 
The  other's  thought,  to  words  not  trusted  yet, — 
Not  uttered  in  full  phrase,  —  yet  half  expressed, 
Perchance  not  seldom,  by  some  act  or  look, 
Some  pressure  of  the  hand,  some  opening  bud 
Given  to  adorn  the  hair  and  meekly  worn ; 
Some  book  together  read,  or  some  soft  strain 
In  the  still  twilight  by  two  voices  sung ! 

There  is  a  time  to  love  !  —  a  holy  time 
When  from  deep  well-springs  in  the  throbbing  breast 
Gush  forth  affection's  purest,  richest  streams, 
And  flow  unchecked,  bearing  through  all  the  soul 
Mysterious  happiness  ;  when  fleet-winged  thought, 
As  finished  occupation  sets  it  free, 
To  the  loved  being  flies  and  lingers  long,  — 
As  the  wild  bee,  tasted  the  nectared  cup, 
Delays,  and  yet  delays,  its  homeward  flight,  — 
Or,  all  impatient,  in  the  busy  hour, 
Full  oft  it  plays  the  truant  and  escapes  ; 
Forgets  all  time  and  distance,  and  afar 
Seeks  the  secluded  walk  or  well-known  bower. 
O  blissful  season,  when  the  unfolding  soul 
Puts  forth  all  sweet  affections !  when  bright  shapes 
And  visions,  of  imagination  born, 
And  yearnings  vague,  and  hopes  and  wishes,  blend 
With  a  deep  restlessness  that  is  not  pain, 
But  rather  seems  a  rapture  ;  and  all  things, 


HOME. 

The  heavens,  the  earth,  life's  many  shaded  scene, 

Past,  present,  future,  —  future  most,  —  appear 

Glorious,  enchanting,  in  love's  aureate  light. 

So  in  some  grand  cathedral,  when  the  sun, 

Through  the  stained  windows,  his  full  lustre  flings 

On  priest  and  altar,  and  the  reverent  throng 

Of  worshippers  that  crowd  the  solemn  aisles, 

'Tis  as  a  new  Shekinah  filled  the  place, 

And  heaven's  own  splendors  threw  o'er  all  the  scene. 

She  is  betrothed  !     The  changeless  word  is  said ! 
Two  souls  are  each  to  each  for  ever  bound  ! 
Is  freedom  then  abjured,  —  for  bonds  exchanged  ? 
Arthur  and  Edith,  each  once  free  as  air 
In  thought,  word,  feeling,  purpose,  aim,  and  end, 
Sold  each  a  royal  birthright  when  they  sware 
Henceforth  to  have  one  name,  one  life,  one  lot  ? 
Or  hideth  seeming  loss  some  priceless  gain  ? 
By  somewhat  yielded  is  it,  Heaven's  great  law 
That  the  young  heart,  with  conscious  need  disturbed, 
Must  find  its  fulness,  what  it  restless  craved  ? 
Bound !    Bound !    Ah !  thou  that  doubting  askest,  know 
That  unto  thee  love's  mystery  as  yet 
Is  all  unopened  ;  thou  art  but  a  child  ! 
Thou  hast  not  learned  how,  in  the  blissful  sphere 
Where  love  triumphant  reigns,  a  soul  gains  most 
When'most  it  loses  ;  that  when  giving  all 
It  takes  all  and  is  blest.     Two  hearts  made  one 
In  mystic  unity  of  trustful  love, 


HOME. 

Constraint  know  not,  nor  liberty  e'er  lack ; 
With  full  consenting  wills  as  one  they  choose  ; 
Or,  differing  aught,  for  this  alone  contend, 
How  each  to  other  first  and  most  may  yield ! 
No  bonds  like  thine  do  bind,  O  heaven-born  Love, 
Yet  as  the  angels  free  are  loving  souls  ! 

Edith  and  Arthur,  be  the  vernal  days 
Of  your  betrothal  arched  with  azure  skies 
And  glad  with  melodies  of  warbling  birds  ! 
Enchanting  be  the  twilights,  and  the  sheen 
Of  silvery  moonlight  on  your  evening  paths  ! 
Taste  the  dear  joys  of  early  love,  and  wait 
In  ecstasy  delicious  for  the  hour 
When  at  the  bridal  altar  blest  ye  stand. 


PART      IV. 


OH,  hush  the  song,  and  let  her  tears 

Flow  to  the  dream  of  her  early  years  ! 

Holy  and  pure  are  the  drops  that  fall 

When  the  young  bride  goes  from  her  father's  hall  ; 

She  goes  unto  love  yet  untried  and  new, 

She  parts  from  love  that  hath  still  been  true. 

MRS.  HEMANS. 

How  happy  he  who  crowns,  in  shades  like  these, 
A  youth  of  labor  with  an  age  of  ease  ! 
Onward  he  moves  to  meet  his  latter  end. 
Angels  around  befriending  virtue's  friend  ; 
Sinks  to  the  grave  with  unperceived  decay, 
While  resignation  gently  slopes  the  way  ; 
And,  all  his  prospects  brightening  to  the  last, 
His  heaven  commences  ere  the  world  be  past. 

GOLDSMITH. 


PART      IV. 

nPHE  bridal  came.     The  holy  vows  were  said, 
As  on  some  April  morn  the  changeful  sky 
Lets  fall,  e'en  through  the  sunshine,  fitful  showers, 
As  each  contending  which  the  hour  should  rule ; 
So  on  that  day  alternate  smiles  and  tears 
On  each  face  came  and  went.     O  Edward,  thou 
Thy  struggling  heart  in  vain  dost  strive  to  still ; 
Nor  canst  thou,  Mary,  when  the  sudden  flood 
Of  gushing  tenderness  o'erflows  thy  breast, 
Repress  its  heaving,  or  the  quivering  lip 
At  once  compose,  or  dry  the  moistened  cheek. 
To-day  a  priceless  jewel  ye  resign, 
That  has  adorned  your  casket,  flashed  for  you ! 
A  heart  that  made  sweet  music  in  its  beat 
Of  harmony  with  yours  ;  an  eye  whose  glance, 
To  you,  like  light  from  heaven,  bore  only  joy ! 
Brothers  and  sisters,  from  your  blissful  bower 
The  full-blown  rose  ye  loved  is  borne  away, 
Elsewhere  to  shed  its  fragrance.     Yet  grieve  not, 
As  those  who  miss  some  treasure  gone  for  aye. 


200  HOME. 

Love  chooseth  ever  what  the  loved  shall  bless, 
And  e'en  in  sacrifice  finds  sacred  peace. 
Edith  but  goeth,  at  the  will  of  Heaven, 
To  kindle  for  herself  a  household  flame, 
Whose  light  afar  shall  shine.     Herself  on  all 
Who  in  her  bliss  are  blest,  not  less  henceforth, 
With  Arthur  at  her  side,  shall  gladness  shed, 
And  to  the  Home  she  leaves  shall  not  be  lost. 

As  some  prolific  tree  whose  boughs  with  fruit 
Bend  earthward,  yet  through  months  of  glowing  suns 
Keeps  all  its  treasure  till  the  harvest-hour 
Hath  come  at  last ;  and,  ripening  once  begun, 
The  process  hastens  till  there  naught  remains 
Save  a  bare  gleaning  on  the  plundered  boughs, 
That  look  all  lonely ;  so  the  Home  where  long 
Young  hearts  have  lingered,  clinging  each  to  each 
And  to  the  hearthstone  where  they  first  drew  breath, 
Must  see  them  parted  at  the  appointed  bound. 
When  comes  the  day  of  ripeness  and  the  spell 
That  held  them  one  is  broken,  soon  —  ah  !  soon 
The  bands  seem  loosened  all,  and,  one  by  one, 
Mature  for  life's  high  calling,  goeth  forth 
With  many  a  backward  look  and  secret  pang ; 
Till  where  but  now  there  stirred  a  cheerful  throng 
Reigns  the  hushed  quietness  of  emptied  halls ! 
'Tis  so,  O  Time,  that  thy  resistless  hand 
With  scene'  on  scene  the  mortal  drama  fills.1 

1  Appendix,  note  E. 


HOME.  201 

Alfred  and  brothers  twain  too  soon  are  missed 
When  meet  the  household  band.     One  burning  heart 
Hath  kindled  into  generous,  passionate  love 
At  Learning's  shrine,  by  names  illustrious  fired, 
That,  shining  as  bright  orbs  through  ages  gone, 
Lit  up  the  darkness,  and,  for  coming  time 
Together  blended,  form  a  milky  way 
Glorious  as  that  which  spans  night's  ebon  vault. 
In  cloistered  halls  he  hides  for  toilsome  years, 
Youth's  passion  curbs,  its  restlessness  subdues, 
And,  e'en  as  if  to  Learning's  self  betrothed, 
Life's  busy  throng  forsakes  with  her  to  dwell. 
Another  to  the  marts  of  hurrying  trade 
His  steps  hath  turned ;  eager  to  tread  where  sweeps, 
Now  this  way  and  now  that,  the  surging  tide 
Of  rivalries  that  chafe  and  ventures  high ; 
Where  men  for  gain  in  life-long  wrestlings  strive, 
Now  win,  now  lose,  and  oft,  ere  manhood's  prime, 
Its  sturdy  strength  wear  out  and  die  too  soon. 
Thrice  happy  they  whose  hearts  die  not,  nor  lose 
All  sweet  humanities,  though  years  be  long 
And  crowned  with  rich  successes  all  unstained  ! 
Turns  fondly  to  his  mother-earth  a  third, 
By  some  deep  impulse  urged  ;  and  far  away 
Toward  sunset-regions  he  hath  wandered  forth, 
To  fix  his  dwelling  where  beyond  the  flood 
Broad  Iowa  her  billowy  bosom  spreads. 
There,  'neath  his  hand,  the  virgin  soil  shall  soon 
Grow  genial,  opened  to  the  mellowing  sun ; 


202  HOME. 

Quicken  the  scattered  seed,  and  in  its  time 
Reward  the  sower  with  the  reaper's  joy. 
Around  the  new-made  Home  his  tasteful  hand 
New  beauties  shall  create.     Well  pleased  his  ear 
Shall  note  the  voices,  echoing  far,  of  flocks 
And  herds  that  'mid  abundance  graze  content ; 
Nor  need  he  envy  here  the  city's  din, 
As  glide,  in  healthful  toil,  the  peaceful  years. 

Ah  !  Time,  at  once  giver  and  robber  thou  ! 
Ere  life  hath  reached  its  noon,  each  year  beholds 
Some  gift  possessed  made  richer,  or  some  grace, 
Some  power  or  pleasure,  all  anew  bestowed. 
But  high  noon  passed,  each  year  shall  filch  away 
Somewhat  of  beauty's  charm,  of  manhood's  strength, 
Of  lustre  from  the  eye,  and  from  the  ear 
Of  quickness  to  perceive  the  subtile  thrill. 
Thou  stealest  from  the  agile  limb  and  step, 
Elastic  beyond  art,  the  lithesome  spring ; 
From  golden  locks,  or  raven,  their  bright  hues 
Thou  plunderest  silently,  till  all  are  gone ; 
And  keen  desire,  and  love  of  high  pursuit, 
And  buoyancy  of  hope,  and  courage  firm, 
And  aspiration  restless  evermore,  — 
Whatever  life's  great  tasks  made  seem  but  play, — 
So  stealthily  thou  takest  that  the  robbed 
Scarce  note  their  loss,  or,  noting,  half  believe. 
Yes,  Edward,  thou  and  Mary,  yet  thine  own, 
Still  dear,  far  dearer  than  when  thy  young  heart 


HOME. 

Felt  love's  first  pulses  beat,  are  not  the  same 

In  thought,  wish,  purpose,  taste,  or  mien  and  air, 

As  when  around  you  glowed  the  bridal  morn. 

The  brows,  then  fresh  and  fair,  with  deeper  lines 

Are  furrowed  by  that  skilled  engraver,  Time ; 

Then  life  lay  all  before  you,  like  some  scene 

Of  rarest  beauty  to  the  eye  made  clear 

And  magnified  by  telescopic  glass  ; 

Now,  through  the  glass  inverted,  ye  behold 

Reduced  to  littleness  what  once  seemed  great, 

And  dimmed,  by  half,  the  glory  that  did  charm. 

Grown  calmer  and  more  wise,  ye,  well  content, 

Resign  your  old  ambitions  ;  pleased  to  dwell 

Amid  Home's  peacefulness,  and  with  such  tasks 

As  here  the  tranquil  days  may  best  beguile, 

To  wait  till  evening  shadows  gently  fall. 

Home  hath  not  lost  its  sweetness,  its  content, 

Though  missed  the  cheerful  voices,  heard  of  old 

Echoing  through  hall  and  chamber  ;  though  the  night 

Descend  in  solemn  silence,  where  so  oft 

At  close  of  day,  for  many  a  year,  did  float 

On  the  still  air  enchanting  harmonies. 

No  lonely  hearts  here  dwell,  that  do  but  live 

In  sad,  submissive  patience,  and  earth's  joys 

For  them  all  vanished  deem,  to  come  no  more. 

No,  no !     Not  such  the  transformation  wrought 
By  Time  and  Change,  though  wondrous  be  their  power. 
While  creepeth  stilly  on  life's  closing  scene, 


204  HOME. 

And  with  the  hoary  head  and  trembling  hand 

Come  signs  of  weariness,  and  for  itself 

Toil  seems  no  more  a  pleasure ;  yet  'tis  left 

On  the  fled  past  to  muse  ;  and  still  to  find 

Companionship  in  books,  or  friends,  around 

The  evening  table  where  the  loved  were  wont 

Nightly  *to  gather  ;  or  at  will  to  sit 

Beneath  the  old  familiar  trees  that  hang 

O'er-arching  by  the  door,  as  long  ago, 

And  seem  of  all  things  least  to  have  changed  with 

years. 

Ay,  more :  'tis  given  to  greet  the  oft  return 
Of  children  who,  to  filial  duty  true 
And  childhood's  fresh  remembrances,  come  back 
To  tread  again  the  haunts  for  ever  dear ; 
To  hear  grand-children's  prattle,  and  to  watch 
Their  childish  raptures  as  on  grandsire's  knee 
They  drink  in,  all  attent,  the  well-told  tale. 
These  are  the  tranquil  pleasures  left  to  age 
When  towards  the  sunset  verges  life's  long  day. 
With  these,  deep  in  the  trustful,  loving  soul 
That  'mid  life's  turmoil  walked  by  faith  with  God, 
And,  far  above  earth's  ever-shifting  sands, 
Builded  on  solid  rock  immortal  hopes, 
There  come,  as  night  draws  nearer,  glimpses  oft, 
And  blest  anticipations,  of  the  realm 
For  ever  fair,  beyond  the  rolling  spheres, 
Where  years  no  more  shall  ravish  youth  away, 
Nor  love  be  parted  from  its  loved  again. 


HOME. 
i 

Edward,  thy  Mary's  voice  for  thee  has  lost 

Naught  of  its  sweetness  ;  it  delights  thee  still, 

Like  old  familiar  music.     On  that  brow, 

Mary,  that  in  its  manliness  did  charm 

Thy  girlhoDd's  eye,  not  less  thou  lovest  still 

To  gaze,  though  o'er  it  Age  hath  spread  his  snows. 

Ah !  richer  now,  in  either  breast,  the  flow 

Of  love's  pure  current,  than  when  ye  did  speak 

Wfth  trembling  ecstasy  the  marriage  vow 

Before  God's  altar.     Then  that  current  welled 

From  confidence  and  hope ;  from  knowledge  now, 

And  mutual  virtues  tested,  till,  like  gold 

Fresh  from  the  crucible  and  proved  by  fires, 

They  shine  with  lustre  that  no  doubt  can  dim ; 

Blest  in  each  other,  ye  are  doubly  blest. 

Nor  are  ye  lonely  left.     One  daughter  still, 
Fair  Ella,  youngest  of  the  household  band, 
Like  some  bright  minister  of  heavenly  love, 
Each  morning  greets  you,  fresh  herself  as  morn, 
And  watches,  all  the  day,  if  she  may  read, 
In  look  or  motion,  even  your  rising  wish  ! 
Or  with  some  sweet  surprise  may  light  a  smile 
On  your  calm,  reverend  brows,  perchance  provoke 
To  merry  laughter,  never  hard  the  task. 
A  kind  good-night  she  says  when  silent  hours 
Call  you  to  tranquil  sleep.     Good-morrow  sweet 
She  bids  you  with  each  dawn.     For  you  she  lives ; 
Herself  forgets  ;  forgets  the  brilliant  halls 


206  HOME. 

Where  Fashion  holds  her  court,  ever  best  pleased 

With  acts  of  filial  duty  done,  she  seems. 

Nor  till  her  eyes  shall  see  you  pass  the  gates 

Of  life  eternal,  shall  aught  else  divide 

Her  constant  heart,  whose  every  beating  pulse 

Tells  that  for  you  her  very  life-blood  flows  ! 

O  faithful  love  !  that,  self-devoted,  deems 

All  toil  and  care  for  you  a  mighty  debt, 

And  to  the  utmost  the  full  score  would  pay ! 

Yes,  Woman !     Though  ofttimes  to  thee  'tis  given 
Thy  heart-kept  hopes,  at  duty's  call,  to  yield 
All  cheerfully  ;  for  God  and  those  that  else 
Were  left  forlorn  and  loveless,  thine  to  make 
The  lot  of  those  who  nobly  much  resign ; 
Though  thy  life's  course  be  like  a  modest  stream 
That  through  the  vale  in  grateful  coolness  winds, 
And  hidden  half,  with  tree  and  bush  o'erhung, 
Freshness  exhales  e'en  when  itself  unseen  ; 
Though  Providence,  or  thine  own  choice,  deny 
The  household  throne  and  dear  connubial  bliss, 
Yet  beautiful  and  blest  thy  life  may  be ; 
Rich  in  self-culture,  and  each  grace  and  charm 
Of  mind  or  manners,  loveliest  in  all  eyes  ; 
And  filled  with  deeds  that  the  recording  pen 
Shall  chronicle  in  heaven.     The  world  yet  teems 
With  griefs  and  groans  ;   with  pierced  and  bleeding 

hearts, 
To  stanch  whose  wounds  there  needs  the  hand  of  love  ; 


HOME.  207 

With  sin,  and  souls  debased,  and  dark  despair ; 

With  ignorance  perverse  and  error  blind ; 

With  mercy's  tasks  untold,  that  well  befit 

Thy  delicate  fingers  and  thy  facile  skill ; 

On  thee  it  calls,  and  wide  before  thee  spreads 

Such  fields  where  love's  best  triumphs  may  be  won, 

As  make  it  grand  to  live  and  toil  and  bear. 

If  thou  wilt  be  a  trifler,  deep  the  shame ! 

If  frivolous  and  vain,  with  all  the  gifts 

Of  God  conferred  to  make  thee  seem  divine, 

Demons  must  clap  their  hands  in  fiendish  glee, 

And  pitying  Goodness  turn  in  tears  away ! 

Be  a  true  woman,  whatsoe'er  thy  place, 

In  solitude  or  crowd  or  youth  or  age, 

And  life  shall  be  to  thee  no  joyless  waste, 

But  rich  in  pleasures  that  sate  not  the  soul. 

Thyself  revere  ;  nor  surfer  without  need 

Thy  robes  to  draggle  in  the  common  dust ! 

Be  as  God  would,  —  in  thine  own  sphere  a  sun, 

And  round  thee  glorious  planets  shall  revolve, 

Glow  in  thy  light,  and  life  and  comfort  find. 

So  shalt  thou  bless  thy  kind,  and  all  shall  gaze 

Admiring,  and  like  Parsees  worship  thee  ! 

As  in  late  autumn,  when  the  frosty  earth    . 
With  withered  leaves  is  strown,  the  forests  bare, 
And  many  a  signal  tells  drear  winter  nigh, 
Comes  Indian  Summer  with  her  gentle  reign, 
And  charms  which,  tempered  by  the  golden  haze, 


208  HOME. 

Half  veil  and  half  transfigure  Nature's  face, 

That  with  pale,  pensive  beauty  still  delights, 

As  peacefully  go  by  the  tranquil  days ; 

So,  while  age  ripens,  and  when  whitened  locks 

And  the  dimmed  eye  and  faltering  step  forewarn 

That  not  now  distant  lies  the  vale  of  shades, 

Earth's  darkness  parting  from  eternal  day, 

Full  oft  there  comes  a  season  all  serene, 

Whose  sunshine  mellowed  falls,  whose  airs  are  mild 

As  softest  breath  of  May,  whose  tempests  sleep, 

Whose  peace  is  like  the  Sabbath  stillness,  when 

A  hushed  world  waits  and  worships.     'Tis  as  if 

O'er  the  calm  spirit  silently  there  steals 

Some  effluence  celestial,  that  inbreathed, 

As  from  the  throne  of  God,  a  baptism  seems 

Of  love  divine,  before  the  mortal  strife, 

The  waiting  soul  from  ties  of  earth  to  free, 

And  heavenward  lure  her  towards  her  coming  bliss. 

'Tis  in  this  hallowed  time  that  Edward  now 
And  Mary,  side  by  side,  like  ripened  sheaves 
With  yellow  grain  rich  laden,  bide  the  hour 
When  the  great  Husbandman,  with  faithful  care 
Shall  bring  them  to  his  garner.     Ella's  hand* 
With  love's  instinctive  gentleness,  delights 
To  bear  for  them  each  burden,  and  each  day 
Some  pleasure  new  to  bring.     The  furrowed  brow, 
Soothed  by  her  touch,  seems  ever  half  to  lose 
Its  look  of  weariness  ;  and  at  her  voice, 


HOME. 

Whose  tones  are  cheering  as  the  morning  lark's, 
The  languid  eye  grows  brighter ;  and  the  ear 
Tires  not  that  listens  to  her  pleasing  talk, 
Or  readings,  that  beguile  the  loitering  hours  ; 
The  genius  of  the  place,  she  lives  and  moves 
Like  some  kind,  ministering  spirit  of  the  skies, 
Sent  forth  the  aged  pilgrims  Home  to  lead. 


But  mortal  years  must  end.     Mary,  thy  cheek 
So  touched  with  crimson  once,  now  paleness  wears  ; 
Falter  thy  footsteps  on  the  lengthened  path 
Where  thou  of  old  didst  tread  like  the  gazelle 
That  scaleth  with  fleet  limb  the  mountain  side ; 
Faintness  invades  thy  heart,  so  wont  to  beat 
With  ardor  healthful  and  with  purpose  brave. 
Beside  thee  bends  thy  Edward's  reverend  head ; 
Grieved  not  for  thee,  so  soon  to  see  His  face 
Whose  beauty  to  behold  ye  both  have  pined  ; 
But  for  himself,  that  he  may  not  as  yet 
Enter  within  the  veil,  but  without  thee, 
Still  in  the  outer  court  must  linger  lone. 
Thy  children  too,  Edith  and  Arthur  soon, 
Then  those  who  dwell  afar,  in  hurried  haste, 
With  Ella,  gather  in  the  chamber  hushed, 
And  watch  the  failing  pulses.     O  dread  hour, 
When  hearts  long  loving  and  in  love  made  one 
Are  each  from  other  rudely  rent  away ! 
Yet  Faith  can  triumph  here,  and  calmly  say, 
"  Thy  will  be  done  !  "  can  hear  the  symphonies 

14 


210  HOME. 

Soft  floating  on  the  air,  from  unseen  harps, 
That  welcome  to  the  invisible  host  of  God 
Another  sister  spirit,  pure  and  free ! 
She  is  translated,  and  with  Christ  abides  ! 

Edward,  not  long  shall  Earth  detain  thee  now ! 
Her  lights  grow  dim,  and  like  a  vision  fade 
Her  transient  glories  ;  heavenward  look  thine  eyes. 
Thou  wouldst  not  linger,  and  the  hour  is  nigh 
When  thou  shalt  hear  kind  voices  bid  thee  come ! 
And  see,  beyond  the  flood,  thy  Mary  stand 
With  arms  outstretched  to  beckon  thee  away ! 
Then,  Ella,  thy  dear,  loving  hand  shall  close 
Thy  father's  dying  eyes  ;  that  placid  brow 
With  thy  last  filial  tears  thou  shalt  bedew, 
Thy  filial  tasks  all  done.     Then  farewell  Home  ! 
Thy  Home  from  infancy,  through  long,  long  years, 
Whose  histories  upon  thy  soul  are  writ, 
As  if,  with  iron  pen  and  diamond  point, 
Graved  on  the  eternal  rock.     Go,  thou  true  heart, 
Well  trained  by  duty  for  all  holiest  deeds  ! 
Go  forth  where  sin  lays  waste  and  sorrows  spring, 
And  round  thee  scatter  gladness,  light,  and  joy  ! 
In  thee  let  it  be  seen  that  woman,  true 
To  love's  best  impulses,  must  needs  command 
All  honor  from  the  world,  by  all  revered. 
So  shall  thy  name,  enshrined  in  grateful  hearts, 
Be  as  a  jewel  kept ;  and  thou  at  length 
Shalt  hear  the  Ever-blessed  say  —  Well  done  ! 


HOME.  211 

• 

And  pass  the  threshold  of  thy  Father's  House, 

The  HOME  OF  HOMES  where  changeless  love  abides ! 

O  haste  the  happy  day  when  o'er  the  world,  — 
The  wide,  wide  world,  —  bright  altar  fires  shall  burn 
On  household  shrines  all  countless  as  the  sands  ! 
When  homeless  thousands  shall  no  more  be  found 
Far  scattered  without  shepherd,  wandering  sheep 
Unpitied,  left  of  savage  beasts  the  prey! 
Ye  who  with  ruthless  hand  would  madly  tear 
From  the  chaste  maiden's  brow  the  marriage  wreath, 
The  sanctities  destroy  that  God  ordained 
To  guard  domestic  joys  ;  the  springs  would  taint 
Of  pure  affection  and  foul  lust  unchain 
To  work  its  will  till  Homes  are  known  no  more  ; 
Could  the  base  wish  succeed,  the  race  undone, 
And  conscious  of  its  wrong,  on  you  would  pour 
Its  curses  without  measure,  —  well  deserved  ! 
Religion's  ministers  !  lift  up  the  voice 
On  your  high  watch-towers,  and  assert  His  law 
Who  to  unbind  what  God  hath  joined  forbade. 
Statesmen  !  loose  not  with  sacrilegious  hand 
The  holy  tie  without  which  perish  Homes. 
Know  that  when  Homes  shall  perish  states  shall  fafi, 
And  earth,  e'en  as  the  nether  world,  be  hell ! 
The  citadel  of  hope  for  earth  is  Home ; 
Home  the  best  type  that  earth  affords  of  Heaven. 

Yes  !  though  like  all  beneath  these  changing  skies, 
The  joys  of  Home  abide  not ;  though  itself 


212  HOME. 

By  its  own  law  dissolve,  when  circling  years 
Have  finished,  one  by  one,  its  shifting  scenes, 
And  sundered  far  the  hearts  once  closely  knit ; 
All  ends  not  here.     Hath  not  the  Master  said 
That,  in  His  Father's  House,  for  loving  souls 
Are  many  mansions,  whither  safely  led, 
And  made  one  family,  they  shall  with  Him 
Their  Elder  Brother  dwell,  for  ever  one  ? 
There  the  great  anti-typal  palace  waits, 
Thronged  with  the  sons  and  daughters  of  our  God 
Made  like  unto  the  angels  ;  and  the  feet 
Of  all  the  pure  in  heart  shall  thither  come. 

O  mortal !  whatsoe'er  thy  lot  hath  been, 
If,  half  bewildered,  thou  hast  seemed  to  stray 
A  homeless  wanderer  o'er  a  barren  waste, 
If  one  that  much  hath  loved  and  much  hath  lost, 
Or  one  that  loveth  much,  and  much  doth  fear 
What  most  he  loves  to  lose ;  let  thy  stilled  soul 
Repose  itself  in  peace.     Though  on  thy  head 
Fierce  tempests  frequent  beat,  and  all  too  oft 
Clouds,  dark  o'ershadowing,  veil  the  cheerful  skies, 
And  gloom  brood  o'er  thy  path  ;   though  round  thy 

steps 

Perils  thick-clustering  wait ;  though  cares  oppress, 
And  each  day  hath  its  strifes,  and  Sorrow  pours 
From  her  exhaustless  flagon  for  thy  lips 
Full  cups  of  bitterness ;  though  life's  best  joys 
Seem  half  to  lose  their  sweetness,  and  no  more 


HOME. 

Enkindle  keen  desire,  nor  yield  delight 

To  the  tired  sense,  worn  with  the  round  of  years ; 

Still  be  thou  calm  !     Be  strong  and  falter  not ! 

Teach  thy  chafed  spirit,  that,  in  weariness, 

Pants  for  her  rest  and  longs  for  wings  to  soar 

To  kinder  skies  beyond  this  land  of  storms, 

Her  restless  thoughts  to  stay ;  and  in  the  strength 

Of  Hope,  that,  like  the  needle,  trembling  oft, 

Is  steadfast  still,  to  wait  the  coming  hour 

When  she  well  pleased  the  mystery  shall  read 

Of  earth's  stern  disciplines.     Then  on  thine  eyes, 

Beaming  with  life  immortal,  full  shall  break 

The  wonders  hidden  long.     Then  Love  Divine 

Wide  open  the  effulgent  gates  shall  fling, 

And  bid  thee  enter ;  there,  beside  the  throne 

Where  sits  the  Lamb,  shall  show  thee  the  bright  Home, 

For  Him  and  His  for  ever  dear  redeemed 

Builded  of  God  ere  yet  the  worlds  were  made. 

Lift,  lift  thy  glance,  O  mortal,  troubled,  sad, 

And  lose  thy  griefs  and  fears  in  thoughts  of  Heaven  ! 

There  wait  thee  solid  joys.     What  most  thy  heart 
Hath  yearned  to  find,  yet  ever  sought  in  vain 
Through  perished  hopes  and  crosses  ever  new,  — 
Sweet  rest,  with  full  content,  —  thou  there  shalt  know. 
Thy  cup  of  blessing  filled,  thou  shalt  behold 
Divinest  splendors,  all  things  bright  and  fair ; 
With  which  compared,  earth's  purest  loveliness 
Remembered  shall  all  unsubstantial  seem, 


214  HOME. 

A  shadow  and  a  type.     Thy  treasures  lost, 

By  stern  Death  wrested  from  thy  warm  embrace, 

Now  clothed  in  spiritual  beauty  and  complete 

In  all  celestial  graces,  still  thine  own, 

There  thou  again  shalt  find.     Theirs  the  old  love, 

Changed  only  as  made  richer  in  its  flow 

And  deeper  far ;  as  if,  checked  for  a  time 

By  separation,  it  the  while  had  swelled, 

Till  ready,  like  a  flood,  to  force  its  way. 

These  shall  such  greeting  give  thee  as  shall  thrill 

Thy  raptured  spirit,  ne'er  again  to  know 

Unquenched  affection's  thirst  ;  while  high  above 

Thou  seest  writ  in  words  of  flashing  light : 

"  No  pang,  no  death,  no  partings,  evermore !  " 

Heaven!    'Tis  no  misty  dream.    What  mortal  eye,  • 
Unlifted  yet  the  veil,  —  hath  never  seen, 
Nor  can,  with  keenest  glance ;  what  mortal  ear, 
Though  listening  all  attent,  hath  never  heard, 
Even  in  faint  echoes,  God  himself  hath  shown 
To  loving  hearts  and  true.     By  visions  clear 
And  words  celestial,  whispered  soft  and  sweet 
In  the  'rapt  spirit's  depths,  revealed  have  been 
Mysteries  of  life  and  beauty,  love  and  joy, 
That  from  of  old  await  the  sons  of  God, 
Their  heritage,  reserved  till  their  glad  feet 
Shall  pass  thy  gates,  Jerusalem  the  New ! 
In  thee,  O  Holy  City,  crowned  with  grace, 
Builded  of  gems  imperishable,  with  walls 


HOME. 

Of  adamant  that  sin  and  woe  debar, 
O'erarched  by  skies  serene  without  a  sun, 
And  watered  with  pure,  living  streams,  that  flow 
For  ever  from  beneath  the  Mount  of  God,  — 
In  thee  fulfilled,  and  more,  each  promise  stands. 

Nor  this  alone.     For,  lo  !  the  Lamb  Himself 
From  the  eternal  throne,  —  where,  "  in  the  midst 
As  one  that  hath  been  slain"  He  yet  appears, 
Wielding  all  princely  power  o'er  earth  and  Heaven, 
With  "  many  crowns  "  on  that  once  bleeding  Head,  - 
Full  oft  descends,  with  gentlest  mien,  to  walk 
All  lovingly,  a  Bridegroom  with  his  Bride, 
Rejoicing  o'er  her  in  her  bridal  robes, 
White  as  the  light  and  lustrous  as  the  sun.1 
In  dear  companionship  amid  the  throng 
By  His  own  pangs  redeemed,  now  tenderly 
He  talks  of  Golgotha,  the  tomb,  the  morn 
When  the  rent  sepulchre  resigned  its  trust, 
And  He,  triumphant,  first-born  from  the  dead, 
Death's  sceptre  broken,  trod  the  earth  again ; 
When  His  own  saw  Him,  heard  Him,  and  believed 
That  He,  whom  on  the  tree  they  saw  expire 
In  agony  and  shame,  was  LORD  OF  ALL  ! 

Ah  !  how  their  blessed  spirits  now  respond 
In    rapturous  praise,  and  thanks,  and  burning  love,  - 
Love  that  not  blindly  burns,  like  theirs  of  old 

1  Appendix,  note  F. 


2l6  HOME. 

Who  to  Emmaus  walked,  —  while  heavenly  words 
Fall  like  soft  music  from  those  lips  divine ! 
His  glory  they  behold,  that  glory  share, 
Even  as  on  earth  He  said.     All  human  grace 
With  the  full  Godhead's  dignity  combined, 
And  lowly  gentleness,  enrobed  He  seems 
With  beauty  infinite  !     They,  all  intent, 
And  ravished,  gazing  on  His  unveiled  face,  — 
O  vision  long  desired  !  —  themselves  transformed 
And  in  His  likeness  made,  exultant  see ; 
To  know  as  they  are  known  supremely  blest. 
He  feeds  them,  —  He  whom  seraphim  adore  ! 
He  leads  them  where  eternal  fountains  rise, 
That  they  may  thirst  no  more  ;  and  from  the  eyes 
That  wept  on  earth  so  oft,  His  loving  hand 
All  tears  hath  wiped  for  evermore  away. 


ys? 

oef^co- 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


THE   SEASIDE. 

T  SIT  beside  thee,  murmuring  sea, 

•*•     And  watch  thy  ever-changeful  motion ; 

Note  where  soft  clouds  float  over  thee, 

And  where  commingle  sky  and  ocean; 
White  sails  are  scattered  here  and  there, 

Of  swift  ships  o'er  thy  bosom  gliding, 
That  in  the  hazy,  shimmering  air, 

Move  dream-like  on  the  wave  dividing. 

I  mark  where  on  yon  pebbly  shore, 

Along  the  crescent  bay  far-sweeping, 
White  waves  are  breaking  evermore, 

E'en  when  the  winds  are  calmly  sleeping ; 
I  gaze  when  storms  are  on  the  deep, 

Like  unchained  demons  wildly  roaming, 
When  billows  huge  their  tumult  keep, 

In  frantic  fury  madly  foaming. 

Thy  deep  and  still  abysses,  where 
Dwell  life  and  beauty  all-abounding, 

Where  pearls  are  born  and  mosses  rare, 

And  sea-flowers  bloom,  the  rock  surrounding ; 


220  THE  SEASIDE. 

.The  countless  mysteries  concealed 

Down  where  thy  lowest  vales  lie  hidden 
Seem  oft  as  if  to  sight  revealed, 

While  thought  treads  paths  to  sight  forbidden. 

Yet,  mighty  Sea!  'tis  not  the  glow 

Of  thy  broad  face  when  calm  and  smiling  ; 
'Tis  not  thy  wrath  when  heavenward  go 

Thy  surges  into  mountains  piling ; 
'Tis  not  the  secrets  of  thy  breast, 

Thy  countless  marvels  all  unspoken, 
That  make  me  with  thee  ever  blest, 

Held  long  as  by  a  spell  unbroken  ! 

'Tis  tha*  thou  stirrest  in  my  soul 

Thoughts  all  too  deep  and  vast  for  telling ; 
Thoughts  free  as  thine  own  waves  that  roll 

On  and  yet  on  with  ceaseless  swelling ; 
'Tis  that  emotions,  memories,  loves, 

And  buried  joys,  thou  dost  awaken  ; 
Flown  hopes  dost  call,  like  nestling  doves, 

Back  to  the  heart  too  soon  forsaken. 

'Tis  that  far  o'er  thy  wide  expanse 

I  know  that  sunny  lands  are  lying ; 
And  at  thy  side,  full  oft,  perchance, 

To  those  fair  climes  my  thought  is  flying  ; 
I  scent  the  orange  groves  afar, 

I  see  the  tufted  palm-tree  spreading, 
I  rove  where  Orient  gardens  are 

In  endless  bloom  their  perfumes  shedding. 


THE  SEASIDE.  221 

'Tis  that  in  years  far,  far  away, 

When  youthful  pulses  high  were  beating, 
I  joyed  by  thee  at  eve  to  stray, 

True  hearts  in  high  communion  meeting  ; 
And  now  thou  givest  back  once  more 

The  faces  whose  bright  smiles  have  perished ; 
I  see  them,  greet  them,  as  of  yore, 

Though  lost,  in  faithful  memory  cherished. 

'Tis  that,  when  on  thy  strand,  I  feel 

A  reverent  tenderness  come  o'er  me, 
Am  moved  by  thy  gray  rocks  to  kneel, 

With  all  thy  grandeur  spread  before  me, 
And  breathe  my  worship  in  His  ear 

Who,  in  His  greatness  thought  out-reaching, 
Is  ever  to  the  lowly  near, 

The  glory  of  His  goodness  teaching. 

Tis  that  by  thee  I  feel  the  love 

That,  like  thy  floods,  no  measure  knowing, 
From  the  Eternal  Fount  above 

To  mortal  man  is  ever  flowing ; 
And  hear  His  footsteps  who  of  old 

Sublimely  trod  the  troubled  billow, 
Who  with  a  word  the  storm  controlled, 

Rising  majestic  from  his  pillow. 

'Tis  that,  at  sight  of  thee,  inspired 

With  conscious  power,  my  soul,  ascending, 

Shoots  high  her  flight  with  wing  untired, 
Her  heavenward  yearning  impulse  lending ; 


222  THE   CHORUS  OF  ALL   SAINTS. 

Till  fairer  visions  greet  her  sight 

Than  charm  where  tropic  suns  are  gleaming, 
Realms  bathed  in  uncreated  light 

From  God's  high  throne  for  ever  streaming. 

Long  as  my  mortal  years  shall  roll, 

Grand  Sea !  thy  sights  and  sounds  shall  cheer  me, 
Bring  calm  sweet  musings  to  my  soul, 

And  God  and  kindred  spirits  near  me  ; 
Then,  when  these  eyes  behold  no  more 

Thy  noble  face,  its  charm  still  keeping, 
O  let  thy  long-loved,  solemn  roar 

Be  as  a  requiem  o'er  me  sleeping ! 


THE   CHORUS   OF   ALL   SAINTS. 

• 

SUGGESTED  while  hearing  HAYDN'S  Imperial  Mass. 

^  I  "HE  choral  song  of  a  mighty  throng 
•*-       Comes  sounding  down  the  ages  ; 
'Tis  a  pealing  anthem  borne  along, 

Like  the  roar  of  the  sea  that  rages ; 
Like  the  shout  of  winds  when  the  storm  awakes, 

Or  the  echoing,  distant  thunder, 
Sublime  on  the  listening  ear  it  breaks, 

And  enchains  the  soul  in  wonder. 

And  in  that  song,  as  it  onward  rolls, 
There  are  countless  voices  blended, 

Voices  of  myriads  of  holy  souls 
Since  Abel  from  earth  ascended  : 


THE   CHORUS  OF  ALL  SAINTS. 

Of  patriarchs  old  in  the  world's  dim  morn ; 

Of  seers  from  the  centuries  hoary  ; 
Of  angels  who  chimed  when  the  Lord  was  born, 

"  To  God  in  the  highest,  glory !  " 


Of  the  wise  that,  led  by  the  mystic  star, 

Found  the  babe  in  Bethlehem's  manger, 
And  gifts,  from  the  Orient  lands  afar, 

Bestowed  on  the  new-born  stranger ; 
Of  Mary,  the  blessed  of  God  Most  High ; 

Of  the  Marys  that  watch  were  keeping 
At  the  Cross  where  He  hung  for  the  world  to  die, 

And  stood  by  the  sepulchre  weeping. 

The  voices  of  holy  Apostles  rise, 

The  symphony  grandly  swelling, 
And  land  to  land  with  the  strain  replies, 

As  they  go  of  Messiah  telling ; 
And  with  them  the  martyr  host  conspire, 

A  host  as  the  stars  for  number  ; 
They  sing  from  the  rack  and  from  out  the  fire, 

From  the  dust  in  which  they  slumber. 

From  the  saints  obscure,  that  in  every  age 

Have  fought  the  good  fight  unheeded, 
Whose  names  ne'er  graced  the  historic  page, 

Who  thought  not  of  fame,  nor  needed, 
Come  tones  that  tell  of  a  tender  love, 

Of  a  spirit  calm  and  holy  : 
O,  sweet  to  the  ear  of  the  Lord  above 

Is  the  praise  of  the  meek  and  lowly ! 


THE   CHORUS  OF  ALL  SAINTS. 

He  hath  heard,  well  pleased,  when  the  psalm  awoke 

Dark  caves  and  the  dismal  prison; 
When  the  stillness  of  lonely  glens  it  broke, 

Or  on  damp  night-winds  has  risen; 
When  up  from  the  cot  of  the.poor  it  came, 

Or  from  meanest  cabins  stealing, 
'Twas  an  offering  dearer  than  altar's  flame, 

The  love  of  true  hearts  revealing. 

And  hark!  from  the  joyous  infant  choir 

Which  the  Lord  to  His  arms  hath  taken, 
Notes  sweet  as  breathe  from  the  trembling  lyre 

That  the  softest  touch  doth  waken ! 
And  from  childhood's  band  who,  when  life's  fresh  glow 

On  their  early  bloom  was  lying, 
Felt  the  shaft  of  death  to  their  young  hearts  go, 

And  His  love  enfold  them  dying ! 

So  onward,  long  as  the  queenly  moon 

Shall  float  through  the  azure  nightly, 
Or  the  sun  ascend  to  his  throne  at  noon, 

Or  the  evening  star  burn  brightly, 
Shall  the  choral  hymn  of  the  saints  resound 

That  chants  of  the  Cross  the  story ; 
It  shall  rise  and  blend  with  the  trumpet's  sound 

When  the  Lord  shall  come  in  glory ! 


MIDSUMMER  NIGHT. 


MIDSUMMER  NIGHT. 
\ 

/'"VER  the  dim,  empurpled  mountains, 
^^     Fades  the  ruby  light  away ; 
Shadows  sleep  where  late  the  fountains 
Sparkled  'neath  the  glance  of  day. 

Tranquil  streams  that,  smoothly  gliding, 
Mirrored  tree  and  cliff  and  cloud, 

All  their  placid  beauty  hiding, 

Gathering  night-shades  now  enshroud. 

Flowers  that  in  the  jocund  morning 
Drank  with  blushing  lips  the  dew, 

Folded  wait  another  dawning, 
And  their  wasted  sweets  renew. 

Hurrying  life's  last  murmur  dying, 
Stillness  broods  o'er  vale  and  hill, 

Startled  only  by  the  crying 
Of  the  wakeful  whip-poor-will. 

Spirit  of  the  peaceful  hour, 

Now  while  nature  sinks  to  rest, 

Let  thy  sweet,  subduing  power 
Still  each  passion  in  my  breast ! 

Give  calm  thoughts  of  tasted  sorrows, 
Tender  memories  wake  again, 

Bring  me  dreams  of  bright  to-morrows, 
Hopes  that  shall  not  all  be  vain. 
15 


226  MIDSUMMER  NIGHT. 

While,  with  darkness  vigils  keeping, 

Here  I  linger  silent,  lone, 
Come  there,  like  the  soft  wind  sweeping, 

Breathings  from  the  realm  unknown. 

As  yon  watching  stars  above  me 
Greet  me,  though  afar  they  roll, 

May  not  those  in  heaven  that  love  me 
Speak  in  whispers  to  my  soul  ? 

As  if  some  new  sense  possessing, 
May  I  not  those  whispers  hear  ? 

Catch  from  airy  lips  a  blessing  ? 
Know  that  holy  ones  are  near  ? 

Night's  deep  shade  the  world  concealing, 
Makes  the  soul's  quick  glance  more  keen  ; 

In  serener  light  revealing 

To  her  eye  the  things  unseen. 


Sights  of  unthought  glory  hidden, 
Sounds  unheard  by  mortal  ear, 

Are  not  to  her  sense  forbidden 
When  she  wakes  to  see  and  hear. 


Beauty  greets  her,  ever  vernal, 
Melodies  for  earth  too  sweet ; 

Glows  for  her  the  Throne  Eternal, 
Of  Incarnate  Love  the  seat ! 


.     ETERNITY. 

On  my  spirit,  heavenward  turning, 
Falls  celestial  grace  like  dew  ; 

Waking  all  afresh  her  yearning, 
Angels,  to  ascend  to  you  ! 

O,  while  hushed  is  each  commotion, 
While,  my  soul,  thy  thought  is  free, 

Fervent  breathe  thy  pure  devotion : 
God  and  heaven  are  nigh  to  thee ! 


ETERNITY. 

A      MEDITATION. 

T^TERNITY  !     What  art  thou,  — when  and  where? 

-*--/  With  awe  and  bated  breath  men  speak  thy  name, 

And  think  of  thee  as  of  a  dread  unknown, 

A  gloomy  mystery  from  mortals  hid ; 

To  be  unveiled  then  only  when  shall  fall 

These  vestments  that  for  earth  enrobe  our  souls. 

They  who  now  tread  the  globe,  and  darkly  walk 

Their  toilsome  round  of  years,  are  prisoners  held 

Of  Time's  close  realm  ;  encircled  and  pent  in, 

As  if  beneath  o'erarching,  massive  walls, 

Fixed  by  heaven's  law,  impassable,  and  all 

Impervious  to  the  flooding  light  beyond  ; 

Barriers  that,  till  arrives  the  destined  hour, 

Must  shut  them  from  the  infinite,  and  make 

Thee,  grand  Eternity,  a  shadowy  dream 

Of  the  sealed  future,  waiting  till  at  last 

Unfold  the  ponderous  gates,  and  breaks  the  glow 

Of  thy  full  day  on  each  enfranchised  soul. 


ETERNITY. 


Nay,  dote  not  thus.     Eternity  is  HERE  ! 
In  thee,  Eternity,  I  live  this  hour ; 
Not  more  than  now  shall  I  inherit  thee 
When  the  last  fires  have  lapped  the  flowing  seas 
And  wasted  the  firm  earth.     Thou  wast  before 
Time  and  its  shifting  scenes ;  thou  art  while  lasts 
To-day,  with  its  bright  sun  and  laughing  hours ; 
Thou  shalt  be  while  unreckoned  ages  roll, 
That  shall  make  up  the  record  not  yet  writ 
Of  man's  long  disciplines.     Whatever  is, — 
Being  and  forces  finite,  systems,  orbs, 
That,  by  God's  fiat  once  divinely  set 
In  harmony,  thenceforth  chime  tuneful  on, — 
Change  may  know  ever,  but  no  end  can  know. 
What  seem  the  many  do  but  make  the  one, 
The  mighty  whole,  throughout  with  Law  instinct, 
Where  Love  and  Wisdom  reign  ;  where  evermore 
In  grand  progression  silent  sweepeth  on 
The  march  of  all-embracing  Providence. 
God's  secret  counsels  in  thy  bosom  sleep  ; 
Counsels  that  wait  their  hour,  and  thoughts  divine, 
Whence  shall  be  born  new  worlds  and  wonders  new ; 
New  mysteries  of  life  ;  new  nameless  forms 
Of  beauty,  wisdom,  strength  ;  new  truths  sublime  ; 
New  purposes,  whose  ripening  shall  reveal 
New  marvels  of  his  goodness  ;  splendors  new 
Of  all  perfection,  glories  infinite  ; 
And  thou,  Eternity,  enfoldest  all ! 
Within  thee  stands  insphered  the  universe, 
Substance  and  being  ;  all  save  God  himself. 
He  filleth  thee.     He  claims  thee  as  his  own  ; 
And  thine  infinitude,  in  which  is  lost 
Man's  loftiest  thought,  can  fathom  in  Himself. 


ETERNITY.  * 

Eternity  !     Time  is  in  thee  ;  —  a  part 
Of  that  which  hath  no  whole.     Its  centuries 
Are  as  the  strokes  of  a  vast  pendulum, 
That,  measuring  ever,  leaves  thee  ever  still 
Immeasurable.     Time's  histories  to  thine 
Are  nothing.     E'en  the  events  that  sounded  far, 
That  shook  the  world,  kindled  prophetic  fire, 
Woke  rapturous  lyres,  made  lips  grow  eloquent ; 
That  planted  empires,  thrones,  and  dynasties, 
Or  these  o'erthrew  with  vast  convulsive  strifes ; 
The  miracles  of  art  by  genius  wrought ; 
The  massive  temples,  pyramids,  and  towers, 
O'er  which  the  suns  of  ages  dead  have  watched ; 
Whate'er  of  mortal  works  divinest  seem, 
In  presence  of  the  mighty  thought  of  thee 
To  trifles  sink,  yet  in  thee  are  not  lost. 
Thou  losest  nothing.     All  that  earth  hath  seen, 
Or  men  achieved,  or  shall  to  Time's  last  hour, 
Thou  in  thy  hidden  depths  dost  ever  keep, 
As  keeps  the  soul  its  memories  and  thoughts ; 
The  long-forgotten  oft  again  to  be 
'Unveiled,  lived  over,  seen  and  felt  anew, 
With  tears  or  smiles  such  as  they  stirred  of  yore. 

Remember,  man  !     Remember,  O  my  soul ! 
Thou  shalt  not  wait  till  passed  yon  silent  gates 
To  know  the  grandeur  and  to  feel  the  power, 
The  impress,  of  Eternity.     E'en  now, 
Unconscious  though  thou  art,  o'er  thee  it  broods, 
And  on  thee  falls  its  effluence  every  hour. 
Say,  hast  thou  dreamed  that  when  the  lifted  veil 
Should  on  thine  eyes  the  eternal  full  unfold, 


THE  MOUNTAIN  MAID. 

The  vision  would  endow  thee  all  anew ; 

Exalt  thy  thought,  thine  aim,  enkindle  flames 

Of  heaven's  own  love,  and  make  all  good  thy  choice, 

Wisdom  thy  treasure,  virtue  thy  delight  ? 

Then  let  thy  quickened  heart  NOW  firmer  beat ; 

Fresh  in  thy  breast  all  pure  affections  bloom, 

Like  vernal  flowers  waked  by  the  coming  sun. 

To  all  best  deeds,  deeds  that  shall  bless  mankind, 

That  shall  most  honor  Him  who  most  deserves 

Thy  loyal  duty,  give  thy  noblest  powers. 

Time's  boundary  thou  shalt  pass ;  this  earth  shalt  leave ; 

And,  seen  no  more,  shalt  thence  hold  on  thy  way, 

Climbing  the  heights  of  being  yet  untried. 

But  know  that  now,  not  less  than  then,  —  to-day, 

Thou  dwellest  in  Eternity  at  home ; 

To-day  its  grandeurs  compass  thee  around ! 


THE    MOUNTAIN    MAID. 

WHILE  riding  among  the  Alps,  you  continually  encounter  flocks  of  sheep  and 
herds  of  cattle,  wherever  there  are  grassy  spots,  under  the  care  of  young  women, 
who  stand  or  sit  all  day  beside  them,  occupying  themselves,  generally,  with  braiding 
straw.  There  is  something  highly  picturesque  in  the  appearance  of  these  herds  with 
their  fair  attendants,  as  you  find  them  in  these  mountain  solitudes. 

OHE  sits  upon  the  mountain  side, 
^     The  herd  is  grazing  by ; 
At  hand  soft  murmuring  waters  glide, 
Around  cool  shadows  lie. 

Beside  her  on  the  grass  are  laid 

The  well-adjusted  straws, 
With  which  to  weave  the  tasteful  braid 

That  o'er  her  knee  she  draws. 


THE  MOUNTAIN  MAID. 

Upon  her  nut-brown  cheek  there  glows 
Of  health  the  blushing  hue  ; 

Her  eyes,  like  dew-drops  on  the  rose, 
Are  pearly,  soft,  and  blue. 

All  blithe  and  happy  is  her  air 
Throughout  the  livelong  day ; 

As  to  her  breast  corroding  care 
Hath  never  found  its  way. 

And  yet  she  bears,  full  well  I  know, 

A  tender  human  heart ; 
Where  deep  and  warm  affections  glow, 

And  wishes  fondly  start. 


Perhaps,  adown  in  yonder  glen, 
A  mother's  grateful  smile, 

As  with  each  eve  she  comes  again, 
Awaits  her  all  the  while. 


And  well  the  thought  of  such  delight 

May  cheer  the  lonely  child, 
As  pass  the  hours  their  lingering  flight, 

'Mid  solitude  and  wild. 


Perchance,  as  thus  alone  she  sits, 

Intent  her  task  to  ply, 
A  dream  of  some  fond  lover  flits 

Before  her  inward  eye  ; 


232  MORNING   WATCHES. 

And  fancy  paints  her  happy  lot, 
In  days  when  she  shall  be 

The  matron  of  a  mountain  cot, 
With  children  round  her  knee. 

Perchance  she  hath  a  lofty  soul, 

The  gifts  of  genius  rare, 
Reads  on  each  crag  a  written  scroll, 

Hears  voices  in  the  air. 

But  what  she  hath  of  hopes  or  fears, 

It  is  not  mine  to  know ; 
Yet  will  I  wish,  fair  maid,  thy  years 

All  peacefully  may  flow. 

That  time  may  thy  best  hopes  fulfil, 
And  all  thy  visions  bright 

Be  changed  to  truth ;  yet  upward  still, 
Still  upward  be  thy  flight ! 


MORNING  WATCHES. 
SEASIDE,  LITTLE  COMPTOX,  R.  I. 

"HT^IS  not  yet  dawn  ;  from  troubled  sleep 

JL     And  strange  bewildering  dreams  I  rise  ; 
Here  at  the  casement  will  I  keep 

Still  vigils  with  the  sea  and  skies  : 
I  know  not  why,  a  tender  sadness 

Broods  o'er  my  spirit  at  this  hour ; 
Perchance  the  dawn  may  bring  me  gladness, 

And  give  my  soul  fresh  hope  and  power. 


MORNING   WATCHES. 

Yon  ocean,  stretching  far  away, 

Blends  in  the  darkness  with  the  sky, 
Hither  its  low,  dull  murmurs  stray  ; 

Now  hoarsely  swell,  now  sink  and  die : 
That  restless  sea  is  heaving  ever, 

Kissed  by  the  breeze  or  tempest  tossed, 
Type  of  the  soul  that  resteth  never, 

By  pleasure  stirred,  by  sorrow  crossed. 

But  see  !  o'er  yonder  deep  afar, 

Wreathed  in  soft  mist,  yet  purely  bright, 
Ascends  the  glorious  morning  star, 

And  sheds  serene  her  placid  light : 
Sweet  pledge  of  day  !  thy  radiance  glowing 

'Cross  the  dim  ocean's  heaving  breast, 
Like  some  kind  influence  o'er  me  flowing, 

Brings  to  my  spirit  peace  and  rest. 

O,  ever  when  'mid  trouble's  night, 

With  drooping  hope  and  saddened  heart, 
I  wait  and  watch  for  cheering  light, 

And  falls  the  tear  unwont  to  start ; 
May  some  fair  messenger  of  heaven, 

All  bright  and  beautiful  as  thou, 
Be  to  my  anxious  vision  given, 

And  all  my  griefs  be  healed  as  now ! 


234  BURIAL  HILL. 


BURIAL   HILL. 


THE  most  interesting  moment  in  the  session  of  the  National  Counc'l  of  the  Con 
gregational  Churches,  1865,  in  Boston,  was  that  wh-'n,  standing  on  Burial  Hill  at 
Plymouth  over  the  graves  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers,  its  members  solemnly  reaffirmed, 
with  priyer  and  singing,  their  fidelity  to  the  system  of  Christian  faith  from  which 
those  noble  men  drew  their  highest  inspiration. 


Plymouth's  Burial  Hill  we  trod, 
And  high  each  heart  was  beating ; 
It  seemed  indeed  "  the  field  of  God," 
Each  stone  his  praise  repeating. 

'Twas  not  mid  chill  December's  blast 
O'er  sea  and  land  wild  sweeping : 

June's  longest  day,  —  too  soon  'twas  past, 
Its  carnival  was  keeping. 

Soft  skies  were  o'er  us  as  we  stood, 
With  summer  zephyrs  breathing  ; 

We  saw  God's  smile  on  field  and  wood, 
And  flowers  the  earth  enwreathing. 

Beneath  our  feet  the  Pilgrims  slept, 
The  brave,  the  true,  all  lowly, 

Their  humble  graves  by  angels  kept  ; 
The  ground  to  us  was  holy. 

Ah !  then  all  tenderly  we  thought, 
We  thought  with  pride  and  wonder, 

How,  —  Freedom's  price  divinely  taught,  - 
They  stood  unflinching  yonder  ; 


BURIAL  HILL. 

Though  wintry  chillness  reigned  around, 
And  wintry  winds  were  howling, 

Though  only  savage  man  was  found, 
And  savage  beasts  were  prowling. 

Anew  we  felt  their  hopes  and  fears, 
When  want  and  sickness  wasted ; 

As  through  the  lingering,  weary  years, 
.Of  sorrow's  cup  they  tasted. 

Grand  souls  !  that  with  heroic  will 
The  waves  of  trouble  breasted  ; 

Not  e'en  did  woman  falter,  till 
Beneath  that  turf  they  rested ! 

For  God,  for  truth,  for  man,  they  bore 
Loss,  exile,  grief,  and  danger  ; 

As  Christ,  the  Lord  they  loved,  of  yore 
Accepted  earth's  low  manger. 

And  there  above  their  sacred  dust 
Whose  names  shall  never  perish, 

We  vowed  THEIR  FAITH,  a  holy  trust 
For  all  mankind,  to  cherish. 

O  God,  who  heard'st  our  prayer  and  song 
'Neath  heaven's  high  dome  ascending, 

Bid  us  in  thine  own  might  be  strong, 
For  that  pure  Faith  contending. 

From  regions  wide  where  Plenty  fills 

Her  lap  to  overflowing ; 
From  rugged  realms  where  rocks  and  hills 

With  gold  and  gems  are  glowing ; 


MOUNT  WASHINGTON. 

From  northern  lakes  that,  cool  and  bright, 
Their  sparkling  waves  are  spreading, 

To  where  fresh  orange  groves  delight, 
Perpetual  fragrance  shedding ; 

From  all  the  wide,  wide  land,  the  cry 
For  God's  good  Word  is  speeding ; 

And  Freedom  lifts  her  hands  on  high, 
No  more  enchained  and  bleeding !  " 

O  wake,  ye  sons  of  Pilgrim  sires ! 

Go,  live  in  power  and  beauty 
The  life  sublime  their  Faith  inspires  ; 

Its  watchword  —  GOD  AND  DUTY  ! 


MOUNT   WASHINGTON. 

TTERE  let  me  gaze  in  silence.     Awed,  entranced, 
-•-  *-  And  stilled  as  if  to  worship  reverently ; 
Moved  to  all  thoughts  most  noble,  pure,  and  calm, 
To  the  strange  heart-thrills  which  the  vast  awakes, 
I  seem  o'ermastered  by  a  mighty  spell : 
Exalted,  yet  subdued,  my  heart  I  yield, 
In  this  rude  solitude,  to  eye  and  ear. 
Beauty  and  grandeur  and  a  sense  of  God, 
Commingled  all,  enchant  my  willing  soul, 
Stir  it  to  longings  vague  and  infinite, 
Fill  its  profoundest  depths,  and  hold  it  charmed 
In  tranquil  wonder  and  sublime  delight. 


MOUNT  WASHINGTON. 

Ye  massive  domes,  ye  towering  cliffs  and  crags, 

Ye  purple  summits  that  lift  up  your  brows 

Bathed  in  pure  azure,  or  enwreathed  with  clouds, 

Far,  far  ye  rise  above  our  mortal  paths,  — 

Paths  resonant  with  groans  and  wet  with  tears ; 

And,  in  soft  sunshine  glowing,  now  ye  smile, 

As  if  exulting  in  a  living  joy  ; 

As  if,  in  ever-peaceful,  grand  repose, 

Ye  feel  not  the  rude  shocks  that  shake  the  world, 

Heedless  though  battles  rage  and  kingdoms  fall. 

Yet  know  I  well  that  ye  not  ever  thus 

Serenely  stand ;  that  oft  around  your  heads 

Fierce  tempests  rave  and  cleaving  lightnings  gleam, 

And  thunders  peal  that  from  each  rifted  gorge 

To  gloomy  skies  are  echoed  awful  back. 

Changeless  ye  seem,  as  if  in  giant  might, 

Defying  elements  and  hoary  time, 

'Twere  yours  the  flow  of  ages  to  abide, 

While  man  and  his  proud  works  are  turned  to  dust. 

And  yet  I  mark  that  ye  bear  countless  scars ; 

That  down  your  rugged  steeps  torrents  have  swept 

Gashing  your  sides,  and  avalanches  plunged, 

Baring  your  rocky  breasts  to  sun  and  storm. 

Exult  not  proudly  o'er  frail,  mortal  man, 

That  naught  for  him  endures  ;  ye  too  at  last, 

By  earth's  fixed,  unrelenting  law,  shall  waste. 

Yet  shall  your  term  be  long.     Man  oft  shall  mourn 

His  perished  hopes  and  joys ;  shall  weep  full  oft 

His  heart's  best  treasures  ravished  all  too  soon ; 

Shall  see  his  laurels  fade,  his  honors  die,    . 

His  empires  pass,  his  palaces  decay, 

His  canvas  mould,  his  marbles  crumble  down, 


MOUNT  WASHINGTON. 

His  noblest  words  of  eloquence  and  song 

Lost  in  forgetfulness,  and  known  no  more  ; 

While  yet  unchanged  your  majesty  remains. 

O,  ye  are  worthy,  venerable  forms, 

That  on  the  long-gone  centuries  have  looked, 

And  wait  to  look  on  ages  yet  to  come, 

Of  the  deep  reverence  that  my  spirit  feels. 

Helpful  ye  are  to  lift  my  heart  to  Him 

Whose  hand  of  old  your  strong  foundations  laid, 

And  piled,  with  power  almighty,  your  huge  towers. 

Therefore  I  love  to  climb  your  rocky  steeps, 

To  note  each  outline,  drink  the  spirit  in 

That  breathes  through  all  your  glens  and  forests  wild  ; 

To  feel  the  influence  of  your  changeful  moods, 

And  gain  from  each  some  joy  or  impulse  new. 

I  love,  as  now,  to  watch  with  you  alone, 

When  morning  greets  you  early  with  her  smile  ; 

When  evening  bids  you  late  a  kind  good-night ! 

When  ye  are  holding  converse  with  the  stars, 

At  midnight  clustering  thick  around  your  heads, 

Like  jewels  in  some  august  monarch's  crown. 

I  love  among  the  pines,  far  down  your  slopes, 

When  winds  breathe  softly  in  the  cool,  still  eve, 

To  linger  for  the  latest  notes  of  birds,  — 

Notes  sweetly  tender  as  befits  the  hour; 

While  rills  and  distant  waterfalls  respond, 

And  with  their  chimes  the  diapason  fill. 

Ah  !  then  I  seem  with  God,  and  almost  hear 

Voices  celestial  speaking  words  of  love. 

And  lingering  still,  well  pleased,  I  dare  to  dream 

That  the  soft  cadences  that  swell  and  die 

In  your  thick  shades,  are  harmonies  divine 


SONG   OF  THE  SEVEN.  239 

Wafted  to  earth  from  holy  choirs  of  heaven  ; 
Or  greetings  kind  of  saintly  souls  from  whom 
Long  since  I  parted  at  the  gate  of  death ; 
Who,  loving  and  well  loved,  were  wont  to  speak 
Words  that  were  ever  music  to  mine  ears. 

Long  it  were  joy  to  stay.     But  now  again, 
To  duty's  call  attentive,  I  return, 
As  if  from  holy  ground,  to  meet  the  shock 
Of  life's  rude  jars,  and  wrestle  with  its  ills. 
But  from  your  base,  O  mountains  !  I  shall  go 
Stronger,  with  loftier  purposes  inspired, 
With  fresher  thoughts  and  calmer  life  within, 
And  firmer  rest  in  God.     His  changeless  pledge 
Of  love,  and  love's  best  gifts  to  faithful  souls, 
Shall  stand  when  even  ye,  crumbled  by  time, 
And  Tost  by  slow  decay,  shall  be  no  more, 
And  earth  itself  hath  vanished  as  a  dream. 


THE   SONG   OF   THE   SEVEN. 

Aiild  Lang  Syne. 

THESE  stanzas  owe  their  origin  to  a  delightful  tour  to  the  White  Mountain  region, 
several  years  since,  by  "the  seven  "  in  their  own  carnages.  After  wandering  for  sev 
eral  days  together  among  the  glorious  scenery,  they  ended  with  an  Oration  by  one  of 
the  company,  and  the  Song  of  the  Seven  by  another,  at  the  hotel  of  the  pretty  village 
nf  Ossipee. 

\\  7E  SEVEN  kind  souls,  by  friendly  chance, 

Together  hold  our  way: 
All  with  one  impulse  we  advance, 
Or  with  one  will  we  stay. 


SOA'G   OF  THE  SEVEN. 

Far,  far  away  each  well-loved  home, 

Our  absence  may  regret ; 
But,  since  awhile  we  needs  must  roam, 

We  joy  that  we  are  met. 

These  gliding  days  have  seen  us  climb 

The  mountain's  lofty  side, 
And  from  the  top,  all  gray  with  time, 

Gain  prospects  rich  and  wide. 

The  valley  sweet,  the  wandering  stream, 
Green  woods  and  arching  skies, 

Have  seemed  like  some  bright,  lovely  dream 
To  our  enraptured  eyes. 

The  winding  ride  o'er  plain  and  hill, 

With  everchanging  scene, 
The  headlong  brook,  the  gentle  rill, 

Calm  lakes  green  slopes  between  : 

The  basin  in  the  solid  rock, 

Where  crystal  waters  lie ; 
The  dell  'neath  cliffs  by  some  rude  shock 

Left  frowning  dark  and  high  : 

Where,  when  o'er  all  the  moon -beams  sleep, 

And  silence  reigns  profound, 
Fairies  may  bathe,  and  vigils  keep, 

And  lightly  trip  it  round  : 


SONG   OF  THE  SEVEN. 

Oft  coming  the  rough  way  to  smooth, 

The  cup  of  balmy  TEA  ; 1 
And  oft,  our  weariness  to  soothe, 

The  merry  laugh  and  glee : 

The  morning  when,  each  day,  begin 

Fresh  joys  and  fresh  desire  ; 
The  social  evening  at  the  inn, 

Where  climbs  some  village  spire : 

The  peaceful  hour  of  prayer  ;  the  day 

Of  holy  sabbath  rest, 
When,  bidding  earth's  best  joys  away, 

We  worshipped  and  were  blest  : 

All  these  our  memories  shall  keep 
While  years  shall  wing  their  flight, 

As  gems  in  fountains  clear  and  deep 
Lie  sparkling  pure  and  bright. 

All  lovely  forms,  and  shapes  sublime, 

Shall  float  before  us  long ; 
Shall  tempt  aspiring  thought  to  climb, 

Or  wake  the  breathing  song. 

When  scattered  far,  and  toil  and  care 
Shall  cloud  the  troubled  brow, 

Fresh  smiles  the  thought  shall  kindle  there 
Of  pleasures  tasted  now. 


1  A  beverage  of  which  one  of  "the  seven"  was  particularly  fond, 
and  which  at  every  hotel  he  gave  particular  directions  to  have  made 
strong  ! 

16 


THE    UNKNOWN  KNOWN, 


When  wanderings  cease  with  us,  —  THE  SEVEN, 

Life's  weary  way  all  trod,  — 
May  friendship's  chain  grow  bright  in  heaven 

Around  the  throne  of  God ! 


THE   UNKNOWN   KNOWN. 

FATHER  Infinite,  the  hidden  One, 
Before  all  worlds  Thou  art.     Nor  space  nor  time 
Hath  measured  Thqe,  nor  can.     Nor  line  nor  bound 
Hath  limit  set  Thee,  nor  Thy  power  defined. 
From  everlasting  is  Thy  going  forth  ; 
Unchanging,  ever-blest,  all-perfect,  Thou 
Hast  lived,  hast  wrought,  and  in  Thy  works  rejoiced. 
All  substance  and  all  being,  forces  all, 
Of  Thee  are  born,  their  primal  fount  and  ground. 
'Tis  but  the  fool,  howe'er  accounted  wise 
By  others  weak  as  he,  whose  heart  hath  said, 
No  God,  no  God !  who,  in  the  names  revered 
Of  science  and  of  law,  would  Thee  dethrone, 
Thy  sceptre  wrest  away,  Thy  name  forget, 
Forth  from  whose  bosom  law  and  science  spring, 
And  of  whose  thought  the  boundless  universe 
Is  but  the  grand  unfolding  and  the  sign. 
Thy  sovereign  will  is  power,  —  the  power  supreme 
That  through  the  mighty  whole  of  Nature  rules 
And  moulds  and  moves  and  permeates  evermore. 
The  cause  of  causes,  Thou,  the  force  of  force, 
Motion  of  motion,  and  of  life  the  life. 
Of  Thee  are  all  things,  of  Thee,  not  Thyself ; 
Before  all, -over  all,  above  all,  Thou! 


THE   UNKNOWN  KNOWN. 

Such  thoughts  o'erwhelm  me.     How  may  I  unawed 
Before  Thy  mystery  unfathomed  stand  ! 
When  to  ascend  the  height,  to  sound  the  depth, 
The  length  and  breadth  to  scan,  my  kindling  soul 
With  daring  wing  the  venturous  flight  would  try, 
Hopeless  and  weary,  back  at  length  she  sinks, 
And  veils  herself  before  Thee  and  adores  ! 

In  vain  with  suns  and  stars  that  fill  the  abyss 
Of  space  illimitable  I  talk  of  Thee, 
And  ask  them  how  my  feeble  thought  may  reach 
The  secret  awful,  how  may  find  Thee  out. 
From  their  still  spheres  no  answer  give  they  back, 
Articulate  and  full,  my  soul  to  teach. 
In  vain,  with  Time  communing,  I  demand 
What,  in  the  circuit  of  the  ages  dead, 
His  sleepless  eye  hath  seen,  his  wisdom  learned, 
That  my  deep  questionings  at  last  may  end. 
He  answereth  not,  —  he  hath  not  found  Thee  out. 
Not  e'en  the  first  archangel  near  the  throne, 
Where  light  insufferable  to  mortal  gaze, 
Unveiled  and  cloudless,  falleth  evermore, 
Hath  all  Thy  grandeur  and  Thy  fulness  known, 
Nor  can?  though  ever  learning,  Thee  reveal. 

And  yet  I  know  Thee  !    Know  Thee,  though  in  part ; 
E'en  as  I  know  the  ocean,  when,  reclined 
On  some  tall  cliff  beside  its  broad  expanse, 
I  take  the  circle  of  clear  vision  in  ; 
Feel  all  the  vastness,  note  the  power  sublime 
Of  the  huge  tumbling  billows  as  they  foam, 
And  lift  in  deafening  roar  their  mighty  voice ; 


.244  THE   UNKNOWN  KNOWN. 

While  yet  my  searching  eye  attempts  in  vain 
The  bound  to  pass  where  sky  and  sea  embrace, 
And  reaches  not  the  hidden  vast  beyond ! 
I  know  Thee  as  I  know  the  sun,  that  pours 
A  floo4  of  light  around  me,  o'er  me  sheds 
His  vital  warmth,  in  which  I  live  and  move, 
Arrays  in  glory  all  the  visible  world, 
And  gladdens  my  whole  being  ;  while  unknown, 
llnreached  by  thought,  his  thousand  wonders  lie. 

O  yes  !  since  love  ineffable  Thou  art, 
To  souls  that  love,  Thyself  Thou  dost  unveil 
In  ways  ineffable.     By  light  divine, 
Flooding  their  inmost  being,  Thou  dost  give 
The  knowledge,  incomplete,  but  .sure  and  true, 
Of  Thy  great  fatherhood,  Thy  wondrous  grace, 
And  all  Thy  power  and  will  to  make  them  blest. 
What  though  my  spirit  finite  cannot  take 
The  riches  of  Thine  infinite  being  in, 
Thy  glory  cannot  bear  ?     Enough  that  Thou, 
In  mortal  form  arrayed,  the  Word  made  flesh, 
To  me,  to  all,  a  brother's  name  dost  own, 
Immanuel !    God  with  men  !    Image  express 
Of  the  Eternal  Father,  known  in  Thee ; 
Thee  I  behold  and  love !     Through  all  my  soul 
I  'feel  the  throbbing  pulses  of  Thy  life 
For  ever  flowing,  and  Thy  brooding  love 
Warming  my  chilled  affections,  till  to  Thine 
My  love  makes  glad  response  ;  and  life  and  joy, 
And  worship  reverent,  and  pure  desire, 
And  hope  immortal  fill  my  glowing  breast. 
Thou  walkest  with  me;  and  Thy  hand  doth  guide 


THE   UNKNOWN  KNOWN. 

My  erring  feet  through  each  bewildering  maze, 
My  head  doth  shield  when  life's  fierce  tempests  beat, 
And  evermore  my  cup  with  good  doth  fill. 
Thee  I  behold  in  all  things  ;  earth  and  heaven, 
As  with  one  voice,  declare  Thee  to  my  soul. 

Ay !  go,  ye  doubters,  tell  the  countless  tribes 
That  in  free,  gladsome  life  do  ever  rove 
Through  all  the  abysses  of  the  mighty  deep 
There  is  no  water!     Tell  the  joyous  group 
That  in  the  genial  spring-time,  on  the  bank 
Soft  with  fresh  clover,  sit  and  bask  themselves 
Beneath  the  noontide  beam,  there  is  no  sun  ! 
Tell  ye  the  friend  that  with  his  friend  beloved 
Is  wont  to  walk,  and  high  communings  hold, 
In  many  a  tranquil,  many  a  twilight  hour, 
He  knows  but  his  own  shadow,  hath  no  friend ! 
When  so  ye  are  believed,  then  tell  my  soul, 
That  in  a  present  God  doth  live  and  move, 
That  in  His  smile  doth  bask,  and  in  the  glow 
Of  His  sweet  sympathy  is  deeply  blest, 
She  worships  but  a  dream,  a  fond  conceit, 
Or,  granted  most,  a  being  all  unknown. 
Till  then  be  sure  herself  she  will  account 
No  orphaned  waif,  by  unrelenting  fate 
Helpless  and  hopeless  left,  of  chance  the  sport ; 
But  ever  with  deep  joy,  with  holy  rest, 
In  God  her  Father's  love  will  she  abide, 
A  trusting  child,  till  up  through  parting  clouds 
Her  way  she  wings  and  comes  to  his  embrace ! 


THE    VOICE   OF  FREEDOM. 

THE  VOICE   OF   FREEDOM. 

THE  NEBRASKA  BILL.     1854. 

tr  I  ^IS  Freedom's  voice,  the  joyous  tone 
JL       Swells  loud  and  far  o'er  sea  and  main  ; 

The  tyrant,  on  his  tottering  throne, 

Shall  strive  to  hush  that  shout  in  vain : 

Man,  long  oppressed,  awakes,  and  stands 

With  soul  erect  and  stalwart  hands. 

Breaks  the  bright  morn,  in  days  of  yore 

By  holy  seers  so  fondly  sung, 
When,  crushed  by  wrong  to  earth  no  more, 

The  chains  shall  from  his  arms  be  flung ; 
When  all  that  feel  oppression's  rod 
Shall  tread  the  earth,  —  the  freed  of  God. 

Once  waked  and  fired,  the  god-like  soul 
Sleeps  not  again  ;  no  force  can  stay 

The  glancing  thought  that  spurns  control ; 
Truths  on  it  flash,  as  lightnings  play, 

While  clouds  and  darkness  thick  surround, 

And  thunders  shake  the  solid  ground. 

From  Tiber's  banks,  from  Arno  fair, 
From  many  an  Alpine  cliff  and  glen  ; 

From  Rhone  and  Rhine  ;  from  Danube,  where 
The  Magyar  waits  to  strike  again : 

Come  murmurs  which  the  day  foretell, 

When  sounds  the  last  oppressor's  knell ! 


THE    VOICE   OF  FREEDOM. 

E'en  the  stern  Turk  has  caught  the  word, 
And  Mejid  swears  in  Freedom's  name  ; 

For  Freedom  flashes  Omar's  sword, 

And  Schamyll  burns  with  Freedom's  flame ; 

O'er  Asia's  plains  her  echoes  sweep, 

And  China  breaks  her  ancient  sleep. 

My  native  land  !  my  native  land ! 

Art  thou  not  Freedom's  chosen  home  ? 
Her  place  of  rest,  where  many  a  band 

Of  sorrowing  exiles  cease  to  roam  ? 
Joy,  joy  to  see  the  nations  wake 
To  lofty  deeds  for  Freedom's  sake  ! 

Ah  !  joy  thou  shouldst  ;  but  burning  shame 
Mounts  to  the  cheek,  to  think  that  thou, 

Mother  of  heroes  who  o'ercame 

In  Freedom's  holy  cause,  shouldst  now 

Permit  the  bondman's  groans  to  rise 

And  cry  against  thee  to  the  skies  ! 

Shade  of  Virginia's  mighty  son  ! 

Disturbed  it  not  thy  peaceful  sleep,  — 
That  deed  of  wrong,  ignobly  done, 

A  faultless  woman  doomed  to  weep  ? 
Woman,  —  the  generous,  noble,  kind, 
Virginia,  thou  hast  stooped  to  bind!1 

To  bind  for  tender  pity  shown 

To  captives  who  thy  bondage  bear  ; 


1  A  respectable  lady  was  just  before  imprisoned  in  Virginia  for 
teaching  some  colored  children  to  read. 


TO  MY  WIFE. 

For  Christ-like  love,  that  should  have  sown 

The  seeds  of  truth  bedewed  by  prayer, 
In  saddened  hearts  by  thee  consigned 
To  shades  that  dim  the  immortal  mind  ! 

Land  of  my  birth  !  shall  virtue  be 

In  thee  a  prisoner  sent  to  dwell, 
Oppression's  martyr,  —  while  I  see 

False,  recreant  statesmen  Freedom  sell? 
THE  WORLD'S  DEEP  SCORN  the  man  must  brave 
Who  gives  Nebraska  to  the  slave  ! 


TO   MY  WIFE. 
JAN.  i,  1864. 

T'VE  sought  the  city  o'er  to  find, 
-*•     Dearest !  a  fitting  gift  for  thee  ; 
In  vain  !    There's  nothing  to  my  mind, 
Of  all  the  tasteful  things  I  see. 

'Tis  not  that  works  of  taste  and  art, 
Books,  pictures,  jewels,  I  despise  ; 

These  have  their  uses,  and  impart 
Some  pleasure,  even  to  the  wise. 

But  these  are  trifles  to  my  thought, 

When  this  full  heart  would  fondly  prove 

What  price  by  years  it  hath  been  taught 
To  set  on  thy  pure,  faithful  love. 


TO  MY  WIFE.  249 

Each  gift  most  beautiful  and  rare 

Seems  all  unequal  to  express 
The  fervent  gratitude  I  bear 

For  all  thy  life-long  tenderness  ! 

To  every  year  that  speeds  its  flight 

Each  must,  'tis  said,  some  grace  resign ; 

But  flying  years,  to  my  pleased  sight, 
Add  grace  to  every  charm  of  thine. 

Thy  riper  judgment,  richer  mind, 

Enlarged  experience,  firmer  will, 
Leave  no  regrets  for  days  behind, 

But*bless  and  satisfy  me  still. 

Time,  the  arch-robber,  hath  no  power 

To  steal  thy  solid  worth  away ; 
He  cannot  touch  thy  peerless  dower 

Of  virtues  that  know  not  decay. 

My  heart's  best  offering,  dearest,  take ; 

Its  changeless  love,  its  steady  trust; 
'Tis  thine  till  earth's  last  tie  shall  break, 

And  I  shall  sleep  in  silent  dust. 

Ay,  where  immortal  life  shall  glow, 
Where  endless  years  serenely  glide, 

Firm  is  my  faith  that  I  shall  know 
THEE  as  my  fair,  IMMORTAL  BRIDE  ! 


250  THE  LORD   GOD  IS  A   SUN. 


THE  LORD   GOD   IS   A   SUN. 

T  SEE  the  rose-bud,  wet  with  night's  cold  dew, 

•*-     Smile  through  her  tears,  as  if  some  joy  new-born 

Stirred  at  her  heart.     To  some  deep  instinct  true, 

Her  eyelids  part,  kissed  by  the  waking  morn. 
Softly  her  wondrous  beauty  she  reveals ; 

Opens  her  crimson  bosom  full  and  fair, 
To  drink  thy  beams,  O  Sun !  and,  drinking,  feels 

Warmed  with  fresh  life  and  filled  with  pleasure  rare. 
On  thee  I  see  her  waiting  all  the  day, 

As  by  thine  influence  filled  with  sweet  content, 
And  anxious  only  not  to  lose  one  ray, 

While  thy  pure  glory  to  her  gaze  is  lent. 

So  my  own  spirit,  what  time  sad  and  chilled 

By  earth's  dark  shadows  that  do  close  me  o'er, 
Looks  up  through  streaming  eyes,  and  smiles  as  filled 

With  kindling  joy,  when  Thy  kind  beams  once  more, 
O  God,  my  Sun,  do  chase  the  shades  away : 

And  when  full-orbed  Thou  breakest  on  her  sight, 
My  soul  expands  herself  to  catch  the  day ; 

Athirst,  her  inmost  being  drinks  Thy  light, 
Thy  cheering  warmth,  all  influences  benign  ; 

Till  her  immortal  essence,  'neath  Thy  glow, 
Blossoms  with  graces,  throbs  with  joy  divine, 

And  back  to  Thee  her  loftiest  ardors  flow  ! 


NELLY. 


NELLY. 

T  KNEW  a  gentle  maiden, 
-*-     Her  cheek  was  pale,  but  fair ; 
Her  eye  was  blue,  of  the  softest  hue, 
And  a  golden  brown  her  hair. 

She  used  to  cross  the  meadow> 

Skip  nimbly  o'er  the  stile ; 
Her  motion  light  as  the  swallow's  flight, 

Like  a  sunbeam's  play  her  smile. 

As  o'er  the  grassy  common 

To  school  she  blithely  went, 
In  grace  she  seemed  like  a  fairy  dreamed, 

Like  an  angel  in  content. 

With  every  Sabbath's  dawning, 

Up  to  the  house  of  prayer 
The  maiden  came,  —  for  she  loved  the  name 

Of  the  Saviour  worshipped  there. 

She  went  and  came  so  often, 

That  each  returning  morn 
My  eye  would  stray  down  the  winding  way, 

Till  she  had  come  and  gone. 

One  day,  —  the  sun  shone  brightly,  — 
I  watched,  but  watched  in  vain  ; 

With  a  weary  eye  saw  the  day  go  by, 
For  she  came  not  o'er  the  plain. 


FOREST  WILDS. 

No  more  I  saw  her  coming 

With  light,  elastic  bound  ; 
The  frost  of  death,  it  had  chilled  her  breath, 

And  she  slept  beneath  the  ground. 

O,  there  was  bitter  anguish, 
And  there  were  floods  of  grief ; 

A  home  made  sad,  that  before  was  glad, 
In  that  life  so  bright  and  brief. 

But  goodness  liveth  ever, 

It  cannot,  cannot  die  ; 
When  lost  to  earth  by  a  holy  birth, 

It  is  born  to  a  life  on  high. 

And  still  sweet  Nelly  liveth 

Beyond  the  stars  of  night ; 
Where  all  are  fair,  she  is  shining  there, 

Herself  a  star  of  light ! 


FOREST   WILDS. 

t 

1r  I"* WAS  morn,  —  a  beautiful  morn  of  May  ; 
•*-     I  sought  to  refresh  an  exhausted  mind  ; 
And  I  led  from  the  stable  my  faithful  bay, 
And  toward  the  deep  forest  I  took  my  way, 
Leaving  men  and  their  haunts  behind. 

My  path  was  lonely  and  rude ;  it  wound 
A  devious  way  over  hill  and  through  glen  ; 


FOREST  WILDS. 

Of  the  tree-felling  axe  there  was  heard  no  sound, 
But  the  grandeur  of  nature  unmarred  I  found, 
As  if  Eden  had  bloomed  again. 

I  pause  and  listen  !  and  hark  the  sigh 

Of  the  soft  wind  stealing  among  the  trees  ; 
And  see  !  the  pine  waves  'mid  the  clear  blue  sky, 
And  the  fir,  as  it  lifts  its  proud  head  on  high, 
Just  nods  to  the  passing  breeze.  * 

There  a  mountain  stream,  down  a  deep  ravine, 

Leaps  babbling  by  like  a  child  at  play,  — 
O'erbending  the  old  moss  oak  is  seen, 
Like  Age  over  Youth,  as  the  rocks  between 

It  rushes  with  foam  and  spray. 

-  • 

From  the  wanton  school-boy's  eye  remote, 

The  birds  here  nurture  their  unfledged  young ; 
And  the  robin,  the  thrasher,  the  blue  jay's  note 
Like  a  chorus  of  angels  seems  to  float 
The  wild  forest  boughs  among. 

The  squirrel  peeps  from  his  snug  retreat, 

In  the  hollow  trunk  of  an  aged  tree, 
And  along  the  bough  trips  with  his  fairy  feet, 
And  frisks  his  tail  as  he  takes  his  seat, 
As  if  to  contemplate  me  ! 

Where  yonder  cliff  lifts  its  bald,  blue  head, 
On  a  leafless  branch  sits  an  eagle  proud  ; 
Scared  at  the  sound  of  the  horse's  tread, 
His  broad,  brown  pinions  are  slowly  spread, 
And  he  soars  to  the  floating  cloud. 


THE   WATCH  OF  LOVE. 

O  Nature  !  how  pure,  how  majestic  thou  ! 

I  joy  to  behold  thee  thus  lonely  and  wild ; 
And  whene'er  I  gaze  on  thy  beauty  as  now, 
To  the  Infinite  Beauty  my  soul  would  bow, 

And  love  like  a  dutiful  child.1 


THE  WATCH   OF   LOVE. 


,  thou  loved  one  of  my  heart, 
Wander  with  me  here  alone  ; 
While  day's  latest  beams  depart, 
Be  this  trysting-time  our  own. 
Here  b§side  the  tranquil  sea,  — 

Tranquil  while  the  tempests  sleep,  — 
Far  the  restless  world  shall  be, 
While  our  watch  of  love  we  keep. 

Look  how  on  the  arch  of  night 

Kindling  stars  serenely  glow  ; 
See  their  pure,  celestial  light 

Gleaming  from  the  deep  below  ; 
Fires  of  heaven  !  ye  seem  to  shed 

O'er  our  souls  some  influence  kind, 
While  the  lonely  strand  we  tread, 

Closer  yet  our  hearts  to  bind. 

Deeper,  deeper  grows  the  shade  ; 
Closer,  closer  draw  our  souls  ; 

1  This  piece  was  written  earlier  than  the  "  Spirit's  Life,''  and  three 
or  four  lines  were  transferred  from  it  to  that. 


THE   WATCH  OF  LOVE. 

'Tis  an  hour  for  friendship  made, 
That  each  selfish  thought  controls. 

While  o'er  Nature's  face  around' 
Silence  falls  as  from  above, 

Wake  affections  deep,  profound  ; 
O  sweet  mystery  of  love ! 

While  the  drowsy  ocean  heaves, 

Lulling  with  his  murmurs  low, 
Tears,  not  as  of  one  that  grieves, 

But  of  those  o'erhappy,  flow ! 
As  when  one  who  fain  would  pray 

Deems  that  words  the  half  conceal, 
The  few  gentle  things  we  say 

Are  but  signs  of  all  we  feel. 

Many  a  hope  and  many  a  dream 

In  our  quickened  souls  arise  ; 
Bright  enchanting  vistas  seem 

Opening  on  our  eager  eyes  ; 
Busy  thought  within  each  breast 

Strives  to  paint  the  coming  scene 
A  fair  landscape,  gayly  dressed 

In  rich  hues,  with  skies  serene. 

Yet  we  may  not  all  forget 

That  fierce  tempests  oft  deform 
Yonder  deep,  till  billows  fret, 

Lashed  to  fury  by  the  storm  ; 
So  swift  years  perchance  may  fling 

Storm  and  gloom  athwart  our  sky ; 
Cares  and  strifes  and  contests  bring 

Ills  from  which  we  cannot  fly. 


THE  RIDE. 

Fear  we  not ;  to-night  we  know,          * 

While  these  hallowed  moments  glide, 
While  our  hearts  more  fervent  grow, 

As  we  wander  side  by  side, 
That  where'er  our  steps  shall  tend, 

And  whate'er  the  pains  we  bear, 
Heart  with  heart  shall  ever  blend, 

Hand  to  hand  our  lot  we  share. 

'Twere  not  life  to  live  untried, 

No  stern  battles  fought  or  won ; 
No  fond  wishes  e'er  denied, 

No  high  deeds  of  duty  done ; 
Nobler  shall  our  purpose  be ; 

Father  !  witness  from  above 
That  these  hearts  are  true  to  Thee, 

While  we  keep  this  watch  of  love ! 


THE   RIDE. 

WlLLIAMSTOWN,    MASS. 
I. 

"IT  7E  rode,  in  genial  mood,  a  friendly  band, 
*  "     Where  climbed  a  winding  path  o'er  many  a 

steep, 

And  caught  from  height  to  height,  on  either  hand, 
Visions  of  beauty  in  the  valleys  deep ; 
There  gentle  Hoosic  holds  his  peaceful  way, 

With  meadow  banks  of  green,  and  trees  o'erhung ; 
There  are  sweet  pastures  where  the  blithe  lambs  play 
And  sober  herds  repose ;  fields  where  is  sung 


THE  RIDE. 

The  reaper's  troll,  as  o'er  his  arm  is  flung 

The  ripened  grain  that  for  the  sheaf  he  binds ; 
There  gleams  the  village  spire ;  and,  deep  among 

Thick  elms  and  maples  hid,  the  eye  yet  finds 

The  classic  halls  whence,  with  each  year,  are  sent 
Men  of  high  soul  on  noble  ends  intent. 

ii. 

There  lift  the  mountains  their  majestic  forms, 

Wearing  their  forest  robes,  a  rich  attire, 

Unharmed  by  wasting  time  or  raging  storms, 

Serene  when  thunders  on  their  brows  expire. 
So  blend  the  lovely  and  the  grand  around, 

Fix  the  pleased  eye  and  charm  the  admiring  soul ; 

Joy  warms  each  heart,  pure,  tranquil,  and  profound ; 

O'er  each,  blest  impulses-  delicious  roll ; 
We  snatched  each  view,  drank  in  each  rural  sound  ; 

The  brook's  dull  murmur  and  the  wind's  soft  sigh ; 

And  while,  'mid  scenes  of  beauty  on  we  wound, 
Each  troubled  thought  seemed  in  the  heart  to  die ; 

Peace  filled  each  breast,  and  hope  that  friendship's 
chain 

Might  firmly  bind  till  perfect  love  should  reign. 


THRICE  BORN. 


THRICE  BORN. 


A  GE  !     On  my  brow  now  falls  thy  frost ; 
•**•     But  o'er  far  years  I  wander  back, 
Till,  as  in  golden  mist,  is  lost 
All  note  or  memory  of  the  track 
These  pilgrim  feet  have  trod, 
Since  forth  they  came  from  God  : 
Remote  the  day  doth  seem  a  thousand  years, 
When  woke  for  me  this  life  of  smiles  and  tears. 

Unknowing,  not  unknown,  I  came, 
A  gasping  babe,  a  helpless  thing, 
Unrobed  as  yet,  not  e'en  a  name, 

Or  word,  or  thought,  'twas  mine  to  bring ; 
Yet  was  I  fondly  prest 
Close  to  a  gentle  breast, 
In  which  there  woke  the  sweet  maternal  love, 
Of  all  on  earth  most  like  to  God's  above. 

About  me,  with  no  heed  of  mine, 

Earth's  tenderest  ministries  were  found, 
As  if  the  angels  all  divine, 

Heaven-sent,  did  compass  me  around ; 
Each  feeblest  cry  was  heard, 
And,  like  a  callow  bird 
In  safety  nestling  'neath  the  covering  wing, 
I  soft  reposed  till  time  full  life  should  bring. 


.THRICE  BORN. 

And  so  I  knew  myself,  at  last, 

A  prattling  child  upon  the  lawn, 
'Mid  flowers,  and  swallows  shooting  past 
And  then  like 'a  swift-bounding  fawn, 
That  sports  the  long  day  through, 
Youth's  strength  and  pride  I  knew ; 
Then  on,  until  beneath  life's  climbing  sun 
A  man  I  stood,  its  strifes  sublime  begun. 


n. 
But,  Childhood,  ere  thy  laughing  eye 

Youth's  graver  shade  began  to  wear, 
Rose  deep  within  my  soul  a  cry, 

And  troubled  thoughts  were  wrestling  there ; 
Thy  shafts,  O  Truth,  had  sped, 
Pierced  was  my  heart,  and  bled, 
Till  Love  Divine  the  inward  storm  had  quelled, 
Had  healed  the  wound  and  every  fear' dispelled. 

Ah  !  then  myself  I  found  once  more 

A  child,  a  babe,  life  fresh  begun, — 
True  life  in  God  for  evermore ; 
Above  me  shone  the  Eternal  Sun, 
And  on  my  opening  way 
Let  fall  a  flood  of  day, 

As  when,  in  the  clear  noon,  the  winds  at  rest, 
Falls  the  full  beam  on  ocean's  trembling  breast. 

And  fairer  visions  charmed  my  sight 

Than  erst  had  gladdened  childhood's  morn, 

Serener  was  the  pure  delight 

That  kindled  in  my  soul  new-born : 


THRICE  BORN. 


Like  some  ascending  star, 

Heaven's  lustrous  gate  afar 
Gleamed  clear  and  bright,  and  fixed  my  ravished 

eye; 
E'en  earth  in  fresher  beauty  seemed  to  lie. 

Then,  O  my  Father,  owned  a  child, 

From  strength  to  strength  I  learned  to  tread 
The  way,  with  many  a  song  beguiled, 

That  heavenward,  though  through  crosses,  led. 
Intent  to  do  Thy  will, 
Till  I  may  drink  my  fill 

Of  love  and  joy,  and  see,  my  Lord,  Thy  face, 
Onward  I  press  with  ever-hastening  pace. 


in. 

There  waits  another  birth.     Not  yet 
This  being's  measure  is  attained  ; 
Not  yet  the  final  seal  is  set, 

Nor  God's  lost  image  all  regained ; 
'Tis  mine  to  know  above 
The  life  of  faultless  love ; 

And  death,  in  Thee,  O  Christ,  a  birth  shall  be, 
The  last  grand  birth,  to  immortality. 

Why  should  I  tremble  to  be  born 

All-glorious,  peer  of  angels  bright  ? 
What  terror  hath  the  effulgent  dawn 

Whose  day  God  and  the  Lamb  shall  light  ? 
Oh  !  when  with  dying  throes 
These  eyes  on  earth  shall  close, 


THRICE  BORN. 

Forth  shall  I  pass  all  vital,  free,  and  strong, 
See  God's  high  seat  and  Heaven's  innumerous 
throng. 

Nor  shall  thy  glories,  unveiled  Throne, 
O'ervvhelm  my  soul,  unused  to  gaze  ; 
Nor  shall  I,  timorous  and  alone, 

See  flashing  splendors  round  me  blaze ; 
The  love  that  o'er  me  bent, 
And  by  my  cradle  lent 
Sweet  offices,  at  my  first  birth  below, 
Will  then  not  less  to  keep  and  cheer  me  know. 

O  birth  divine  !  O  bliss  complete  ! 

In  purity  enrobed,  to  stand 
Where  all  earth's  best  and  noblest  meet, 
Christ  and  His  own,  the  spotless  band. 
E'en  now  I  catch  some  notes, 
As  through  the  concave  floats 
The  harmony  of  their  eternal  strain, — 

"WORTHY   THE    LAMB   THAT   DIED,   TO   LIVE   AND 
REIGN  !  " 


HON.   WILLIAM  A.   BUCKINGHAM. 


THE   HON.   WILLIAM   A.    BUCKINGHAM. 


There  are  names  that  cannot  die.  That  of  Governor  Buckingham  is  one  of  these. 
Without  the  highest  advantages  of  education,  without  professional  training,  without 
ambition  or  desire  for  political  distinctions,  by  his  sound  wisdom  and  spotless  Chris 
tian  integrity  he  attained  to  an  eminent  degree  the  confidence  of  his  countrymen,  and 
by  his  distinguished  public  services  well  deserved  the  veneration  in  which  his  name 
and  memory  are  held. 

I. 

WHAT  is  true  glory  ?  .  Not  the  loud  acclaim 
Of  heedless  throngs  that  shout,  they  know 

not  why, 

Clamorous  hosannas,  when  some  favored  name 
For  the  brief  hour  is  echoed  to  the  sky ; 

Not  eminence  of  place  that  sets  on  high, 

And  gives  to  wield  the  power  that  rules  the  state  ; 
Nor  royal  splendors  that  enchant  the  eye 
In  gorgeous  palaces  where  courtiers  wait ; 

Ambition  hath  not  reached  it  when  the  prize 
Long  coveted  by  strifes  or  guile  is  won  ; 
When,  like  the  eagle  soaring  to  the  skies 

And  bathed  in  light  beneath  the  unclouded  sun, 
It  proudly  triumphs  in  its  daring  flight, 
And  on  a  world  looks  down  in  conscious  might. 

n. 

True  glory  is  the  lustre  pure  and  fair 
In  which  exalted  virtue  stands- arrayed  ; 
No  changeful,  transient  blaze,  no  meteor-glare 
That  e'en  while  yet  beheld  doth  straightway  fade  ; 


HON.   WILLIAM  A.   BUCKINGHAM. 

'Tis  as  a  robe,  of  sunbeams  deftly  made, 

That  glows  undimmed  through  the  long  flight  of 

years ; 

That  whoso  wears,  unreached  by  envious  shade, 
As  dressed  in  Heaven's  own  livery  appears : 

'Tis  won  by  patient  service,  loving  deeds 
Wrought  for  mankind  in  firm  self-sacrifice ; 
By  treading  the  rough  path  where  duty  leads  ; 

By  trust  that  e'er  on  God  and  truth  relies ; 
By  courage  that  knows  not  to  yield,  or  fly, 
But,  battling  for  the  right,  can  calmly  die ! 

* . 

in. 

'Tis  thine,  O  Christian  statesman,  thus  to  shine 
In  vestments  of  true  goodness  undefiled, 
Wearing  the  virtues  that  are  most  divine  ; 
By  bribe  unbought,  by  flattery  unbeguiled, 

Without  or  word  or  deed  that,  justly  weighed, 
Touched  with  dishonor.     Goodness  made  thee 

great, 

When  in  thy  country's  peril,  undismayed, 
All  firm  and  steady  at  the  helm  of  state, 

Thy  wisdom  through  the  surging  billows  steered  ; 
When  our  great  Martyr  proved  thee  prompt  and 

true, 
And  on  thee  leaned  as  trusted  and  endeared. 

Henceforth,  enrolled  among  the  faithful  few 

Who  for  mankind  have  lived,  thy  name,  sublime 
In  glory's  light,  shall  glow  to  latest  time ! 


SUMMER  SHADES. 


SUMMER  SHADES. 

L^ROM  the  scorching  noontide  heat 
•*•      Welcome  is  this  cool  retreat ; 
This  dark  grove,  where  all  o'erhead 
Thick,  inwoven  boughs  are  spread, 
Yielding  grateful,  solemn  shade, 
E'en  as  for  a  temple  made. 

Silence  keepeth  here  her  reign, 
Hushed  is  e'en  the  cuckoo's  strain, 
Save  at  intervals  a  note 
That,  half -audible,  doth  float 
On  the  breeze  that,  whispering  low, 
Lingers  as  if  loath  to  go. 

Peace  hath  here  her  chosen  bower, 
All  o'ergrown  with  vine  and  flower, 
That,  in  close  embrace  entwined, 
Types  of  friendship  seem  designed  ; 
Here  she  bids  calm  thought  to  stay, 
Wooes  from  aught  that  chafes  away. 

Eva,  'neath  this  ancient  tree, 

Lo  !  a  mossy  seat  for  thee ; 

Velvet  ottoman  it  seems, 

Where  to  lounge  in  waking  dreams  ! 

All  the  scene  our  stay  invites, 

Welcomes  us  to  pure  delights. 


SUMMER  SHADES.  26$ 

Nature,  thou  in  hearts  that  love 
All  sweet  sympathies  canst  move  ; 
Voiceless  to  the  listening  ear, 
Thou  hast  words  the  soul  can  hear  ; 
Many  a  secret  rare  they  tell 
In  lone  wood  and  cloistered  dell. 

Secrets  to  the  schools  unknown, 
Learned  by  childlike  souls  alone  ; 
Truths,  that  make  the  spirit  pure  ; 
Balm,  of  power  its  wounds  to  cure  ; 
Spells,  that  work  it  deepest  joy  ; 
Sweetness,  that  hath  no  alloy. 

Dearest !  into  souls  like  thine, 
Quick  to  feel  each  force  divine, 
Scenes  like  this  do  evermore 
Fresh  life-currents  richly  pour, 
Make  thy  softly  beaming  eye 
Glow  and  flash  with  ecstasy ! 

While  we  drink  the  stillness  here, 
No  intruding  footsteps  near, 
All  our  kind  affections  seem 
Mingled  into  one  full  stream  ; 
And  there  stealeth  o'er  each  breast 
The  sweet  joy  of  hearts  at  rest. 

Who,  O  who  would  share  the  race 
Of  yon  throng,  that  blindly  chase 
Pleasure  false  through  glittering  halls, 


266  TO  MY  MOTHER. 

Whither  with  feigned  voice  she  calls, 
Oft  to  fix  her  poisoned  dart 
Quivering  in  the  bleeding  heart ! 

When  on  us  to  weariness 

Life's  thick-coming  cares  shall  press, 

When  the  noon-tide  sun  doth  burn, 

Oft  our  feet  shall  hither  turn, 

And  where  these  thick  shades  o'erclose 

Find  in  Nature's  lap  repose. 

Gladder,  sweeter,  so  shall  be 
Summer  hours  for  you  and  me ; 
Pleasures  true  our  hearts  shall  taste, 
Purer  grow  as  years  shall  waste, 
Till,  where  noontide  scorcheth  never, 
Joy's  full  cup  we  drink  for  ever ! 


TO   MY   MOTHER. 


"JV/TY  angel  mother  !     Long,  long  years  have  gone, 
•"•••     Since  thou,  yet  young  and  fair,  passed  from 

my  sight, 

Translated  to  the  world  where  all  is  light, 
From  earth's  dim  shadows  evermore  withdrawn  ; 
O,  bright  on  thy  awaking  broke  the  morn 
Of  life  immortal ;  for  thy  soul  even  here 
Angelic  seemed,  lent  to  this  mortal  sphere, 
And  waiting  till  the  eternal  day  should  dawn : 


TO  MY  MOTHER. 

Yet  thou  did'st  not  forsake  me  when  they  bore 
Thee  sadly  forth,  and  fresh  turf  o'er  thee  laid ; 
E'er  since,  I  see  thy  gentle  face  each  day, 

And  in  the  silent  night,  and  still  there  play 

In  those  soft  eyes  the  self-same  smiles  that  made 
Thy  presence  a  deep  joy,  in  days  of  yore. 

ii. 

Dark  mystery  of  death  !     I  may  not  break 

The  grave's  dread  silence,  but,  O  mother  dear, 
Is  it  a  dream  that  thou  art  ever  near, 
And  smilest  on  me  when  I  sleep  or  wake  ? 

Is  it  not  granted  thee  e'en  yet  to  take, 
With  that  same  overflowing  tenderness 
That  gave  me  at  thy  knee  the  fond  caress, 
Kind  note  of  all  my  steps  ?     Let  me  not  wake, 

If  dream  it  be,  that  thou  my  angel  art ; 

That  'tis  thy  presence  with  me,  though  unseen, 
Which  sometimes  makes  the  tender  tear  to  start, 

And  sometimes  fills  my  soul  with  peace  serene  ; 
As  when  in  childhood  folded  to  thy  breast, 
Thy  calm,  sweet  look  still  charms  my  griefs  to  rest. 


THE  MAIDEN. 


THE   MAIDEN. 


""T^WAS  on  a  summer  evening,  when  the  sun  was 
•*-  set  in  flame, 

And  the  golden  hues  were  fading,  and  the  twilight 
shadows  came, 

That  I  walked  with  one  I  loved,  —  one  who  felt  with 
me  the  power 

Which  o'er  the  heart  comes  tenderly  in  nature's  peace 
ful  hour. 


By  a  river-side  we  walked,  —  'twas  a  softly  flowing 

stream ; 
Its  murmur  like  sweet  music  stealing  o'er  the  sleeper's 

dream : 
Green  and  mossy  were  the  banks,  clustering  shrubs 

and  arching  trees 
Here  and  there,  beside  the  waters,  whispered  ever  to 

the  breeze. 

If  there  are  aerial  spirits,  as  'tis  often  said  in  song, 
That   love   'mid   scenes   of   beauty  to  keep  revel  all 

night  long, 
Surely  there  they  oft  had  gathered,  on  the  moonlit 

grassy  bed,    - 
And  danced    their  mystic  dance  till  the  morn  was 

blushing  red. 


THE  MAIDEN. 

As  arm  in  arm  we  wandered  with  a  quiet  step  and 

slow, 
And  communed  in  such  discourse  as  kindred  spirits 

only  know, 
And,  in  thought,  from  earthly  beauty  mounted  up  to 

worlds  of  light 
Where  beauty  is  immortal,  —  ever  fadeless,  ever  bright ; 

There  came  a  plaintive  voice  through  the  stillness  on 

the  ear  ; 
Hark !  how  soft  and  sweet  its  murmur,  it  is  melody 

to  hear ! 
We  stay  our  steps  and  listen :  clear  on  the  tranquil 

air 
Breaks  from  a  leafy  covert  the  holy  words  of  prayer! 

'Twas  a  gentle  maiden's  voice :  from  the  busy  world 

away, 

To  this  lovely,  lone  retreat,  at  the  hour  of  dying  day, 
She  hath  stolen  out  unseen,  and  on  faith's  bright  wing 

she  soars, 
Breathing  out  her  soul  in  worship  to  the  God  whom 

she  adores. 

We  would  have  bowed  in  silence,  for  the  place  was 

holy  ground ; 
God's  awe  was  on  the   spirit,  and   'twas  heaven  all 

around ! 
But  profane  it  seemed  to  hear  as  that  guileless  heart 

aspired, 
And  we  turned  our  footsteps  silently,  and  from  the 

spot  retired. 


LEILA. 

Perhaps  she  came  jthere  nightly  by  the  kindling  stars 

of  even, 
To  kneel  upon  that  fragrant  turf,  and  pray  and  think 

of  heaven ; 
She  was,  doubt  not,  a  sweet  sister,  bore  a  faithful 

daughter's  part, 
Was  in  all  things  like  an  angel,  — "  Blessed  are  the 

pure  in  heart." 


LEILA. 

T  SAW  thee,  Leila,  when  the  light 

•*-     Of  youth's  fresh  dawn  was  on  thy  brow ; 

When  joy  and  hope  and  visions  bright 

Beamed  in  thine  eyes,  thou  knew'st  not  how. 

Thou  wast  all  sweetness,  and  thy  smile 
Was  born  of  thy  pure,  loving  heart,  — 

A  heart  that  knew  nor  art  nor  guile, 
But  seemed  of  truth  itself  a  part. 

Fair  was  thy  neck,  and  round  it  hung 
With  careless  grace  thy  unbound  hair ; 

Thy  words  were  music,  from  thy  tongue 
Breathed  forth  as  if  without  thy  care. 

In  manners,  motion,  air  and  mien, 

Thou  wast  as  simple  as  a  child ; 
Yet  to  perceive  wast  quick  and  keen, 

Not  soon  by  idle  words  beguiled. 


LEILA.  2/1 

Was  it  strange  chance  that  oft  we  met 

To  while  a  careless  hour  away, 
Just  when  the  summer  sun  had  set, 

And  witching  twilight  round  us  lay  ? 

Ah,  why  it  was  we  could  not  tell, 

But  when  we  met  it  ever  seemed 
As  if  some  sweet  delirium  fell 

On  both  our  spirits,  and  we  dreamed ! 

We  read,  —  but  reading  always  found, 
Whate'er  the  tale  or  song  might  be, 

Some  influence  all  unknown  that  bound 
Our  souls  in  closer  sympathy. 

We  chatted,  chatted  hour  by  hour ; 

Those  hours,  —  too  soon  they  hasted  by ! 
We  heeded  not ;  but  sure  some  power 

Taught  them  on  swifter  wings  to  fly. 

I  said  not, —  Leila,  lov'st  thou  me  ? 

I  read  thy  secret  in  thine  eyes ; 
I  said  not,  —  Leila,  I  love  thee ; 

Thou  wouldst  have  heard  without  surprise. 

And  so  our  souls  together  grew, 

Each  formed  to  each  with  passing  years ; 

We  asked  not  how  or  why,  nor  knew,  — 
Our  life  one  joy  undamped  by  tears. 

0  transient  joy !     O'er  thy  fair  cheek, 

As  if  by  stealth,  strange  paleness  spread ; 

1  saw  what  yet  I  dared  not  speak, 
What  fear  and  hope  alternate  fed. 


LEILA. 

Thy  face  a  holier  sweetness  wore ; 

A  deeper  tenderness  thine  eye ; 
I  heard  thy  ringing  laugh  no  more, 

Nor  wonted  song  as  days  went  by. 

I  saw  thy  glance  its  lustre  lose, 

Yet  brighten  when  it  turned  on  me ; 

And  oft  it  seemed,  might  I  but  choose, 
'Twere  joy  to  part  from  earth  with  thee  ! 

But,  no !  an  angel  thou,  and  meet 

For  heaven's  pure  bliss  and  nobler  life ; 

On  me  earth's  storms  must  longer  beat, 
For  me  remained  yet  many  a  strife. 

At  last  I  stood  beside  the  bier 

On  which  thy  precious  form  was  laid, 

So  stunned  with  grief  I  shed  no  tear, 
Nor  heeded  when  the  prayer- was  said. 

O  day  without  a  sun  to  cheer ! 

Without  a  star  to  glow,  the  night ! 
All  on  before  looked  dark  and  drear, 

No  cheering  ray  my  path  to  light. 

But,  Love  divine,  Thy  healing  word 
Recalled  my  soul  to  peace  and  Thee ; 

And  oft  Thy  gentle  voice  is  heard 

That  brings  fresh  hope  and  strength  to  me. 

And  now  the  hour  I  calmly  wait, 

When  Christ  shall  bid  my  steps  ascend ; 

When,  where  He  sits  in  kingly  state, 
We  two  before  His  feet  shall  bend ! 


DYING  WORDS  OF  NEANDER. 

DYING  WORDS   OF   NEANDER. 

"  I'm  -weary,  —  /'z»  weary,  —  let  me  go  home  !  " 

T'M  weary,  weary,  —  let  me  go  ! 
•*-     For  now  the  pulse  of  life  declineth ; 
My  spirit  chides  its  lingering  flow, 
For  her  immortal  life  she  pineth. 

I  feel  the  chill  night-shadows  fall ; 

The  sleep  steals  on  that  knows  no  waking ; 
Yet  well  I  hear  blest  voices  call, 

And  bright  above  the  day  is  breaking. 

• 

Not  now  the  purple  and  the  gold 
Of  trailing  clouds  at  sunset  glowing, 

These  dim  and  fading  eyes  behold  ; 

But  splendors  from  the  Godhead  flowing. 

'Tis  not  the  crimson  orient  beam, 

O'er  mountain  tops  in  beauty  glancing ; 

Light  from  the  throne  !  a  flooding  stream  ; 
Tis  the  eternal  Sun  advancing ! 


As  oft,  when  waked  the  summer  morn, 

Sweet  breath  of  flowers  the  breezes  bore  me ; 

In  this  serener,  fairer  dawn, 

Perfumes  from  Paradise  float  o'er  me. 
18 


DYING  WORDS  OF  NEANDER. 


As  when  by  sultry  heats  oppressed, 

I've  sought  still  shades  cool  waters  keeping, 

So  long  I  for  that  holier  rest, 

Where  heaven's  own  living  streams  are  sweeping. 

The  joy  of  life  hath  been  to  stand 

With  spirits  noble,  true,  confiding : 
O,  joy  unthought,  —  to  reach  the  band 

Of  spotless  souls  with  God  abiding ! 

Ye  loved  of  earth  !  this  fond  farewell, 

That  now  divides  us,  cannot  sever : 
Swift  flying  years  their  round  shall  tell, 

And  our  glad  souls  be  one  for  ever. 

On  the  far  off  celestial  hills, 

I  see  the  tranquil  sunshine  lying ; 
And  God  Himself  my  spirit  fills 

With  perfect  peace,  —  and  this  is  dying ! 

Methinks  I  hear  the  rustling  wings 

Of  unseen  messengers  descending, 
And  notes  from  softly  trembling  strings 

With  myriad  voices  sweetly  blending. 

O  Thou,  my  Lord  adored  !  this  soul 

Oft,  oft  its  warm  desires  hath  told  Thee : 

Now  wearily  the  moments  roll, 

Until  these  waiting  eyes  behold  Thee. 

Ah  !  stay  my  spirit  here  no  more, 

That  for  her  home  so  fondly  yearneth  : 

There  joy's  bright  cup  is  brimming  o'er; 
There  love's  pure  flame  for  ever  burneth  ! 


THANKSGIVING. 


THANKSGIVING. 

TVTOVEMBER  !  draped  in  sullen  gray, 
•*•  ^     And  veiled  with  withered  leaves, 
One  ever-welcome,  smiling  day, 
Thy  leaden  gloom  relieves. 

Day  of  bright  hours,  that  all  too  fast 

With  noiseless  feet  go  by, 
O,  give  me  back  the  buried  past 

Ere  thou  thyself  shalt  die  ! 

Let  me  tread  o'er  the  misty  track 
Of  long,  long  vanished  years  ; 

Let  childhood's  dreamy  days  come  back 
With  all  their  smiles  and  tears. 

On  memory's  canvas,  fair  and  bright, 

The  dear  old  home  is  drawn, 
And  o'er  it  falls  the  golden  light, 

As  of  a  cloudless  morn. 

I  see  the  trees  that  hemmed  it  round, 

On  which,  each  year  anew, 
The  robin  built  her  nest,  and  found 

A  greeting  warm  and  true. 

I  see  the  crib  with  ripened  corn 

And  yellow  grain  o'erflow, 
The  well-filled  barn,  the  close-grazed  lawn, 

The  orchard's  tempting  glow. 


THANKSGIVING. 

I  pass  again  the  threshold  where, 

A  bounding  child,  I  played ; 
When  parents,  brothers,  sisters,  there 

For  me  an  Eden  made. 

I  see  again  my  father's  smile  ; 

I  hear  my  mother's  song ; 
Sweet  dream  !  so  sweet,  that  still  awhile 

I  would  the  bliss  prolong. 

But  onward  hastes  my  restless  thought, 

As  onward  trod  my  feet, 
When,  home  and  childhood  left,  I  sought 

The  strifes  for  manhood  meet. 

E'er  since  a  man,  with  busy  men, 

I've  trod  life's  flinty  path, 
With  crimsoned  footsteps  now,  and  then 

Amid  the  tempest's  wrath; 

Thou,  loving  God,  my  feet  hast  kept, 

That  else  afar  had  strayed  ; 
Hast  dried  the  tear  when  sorrow  wept, 

And  lit  the  gloomy  shade ! 

Thy  hand,  o'er  all  the  desert  waste, 

My  cup  hath  daily  filled  ; 
The  Bread  of  Heaven  hath  made  me  taste, 

And  every  wish  hath  stilled. 

Though  childhood's  lights  and  joys  can  greet 

No  more  my  fond  return, 
Homeward,  each  year,  shall  turn  my  feet, 

Long  as  life's  flame  shall  burn. 


DA  UGHTERS, 

Round  the  old  hearth-stone  met  again, 
The  old  deep  love  shall  glow, 

And  youthful  mirth  shall  wake  and  reign, 
And  hearts  together  flow. 

O,  ever-welcome,  ever  dear, 

Thou  ancient  festal  day, 
When  home  calls  back  to  social  cheer 

Its  wanderers  long  away. 


DAUGHTERS. 

T  TAST  thou  a  tone,  O  Harp,  so  rich,  so  sweet, 
•*•          That  the  deep,  changeless  love  it  can  express, 
That  warms  a  father's  heart  and  bids  it  beat 
Responsive  to  a  daughter's  tenderness  ? 

Then  would  I  wake  with  skilful  touch  thy  strain, 

Till  the  full  melody  flow  all  abroad ; 
And,  while  my  hand  sweeps  o'er  thee  not  in  vain, 

My  heart  shall  vibrate  to  the  quivering  chord. 

Dear  daughters  mine !  whom  Heaven  in  kindness  left 
When  others,  dear  as  ye,  away  were  borne, 

To  you  this  heart  has  turned  as,  though  bereft, 
Forbidden  all  too  much  for  them  to  mourn. 

Kind  ministers  !     Ye  oft,  with  magic  power, 
Have  life's  disturbing  elements  composed  ; 

Have  Home  transformed,  as  to  a  fairy  bower 
By  ivy,  rose,  and  jasmine  thick  enclosed  ; 


DA  UGHTERS. 

Where  pure  affection,  from  rude  jars  withdrawn, 
May  kindle  all  unchecked  and  calmly  rest ; 

And  fairest  virtues,  fresh  as  flowers  at  dawn, 
May  bud  and  blossom  in  each  gentle  breast. 

Oft  when  this  head  and  heart  have  weary  grown, 
'Mid  cares  and  toils  that  crowd  the  passing  day, 

Your  skill  to  cheer  and  charm  full  well  I've  known, 
Your  sunny  smiles  have  chased  each  shade  away. 

When  glide  those  fingers  o'er  the  tuneful  keys, 
The  tones  wake  echoes  in  my  listening  soul ; 

And  vocal  harmonies,  that  soothe  and  please, 
In  waves  of  music  o'er  me  seem  to  roll. 

Ah !  would  ye  knew  how  ever  in  my  heart 
Live  thoughts  of  you  to  me  as  treasures  rare ! 

And  love,  that  would  to  you  all  bliss  impart, 

That  would  for  you  life's  tears  and  anguish  bear ! 

Thanks  that  kind  Heaven  hath  granted  me  so  long 
To  shield  you  from  the  storms  that  fiercest  beat ; 

Thanks  that  ye  both  have  learned,  with  courage  strong, 
Where  God  would  lead  to  tread  with  willing  feet. 

O  Love  Eternal !  through  earth's  fleeting  years, 
Go  Thou  before,  and  guide  them  at  Thy  will ! 

Then,  when  they  pass  beyond  the  starry  spheres, 
Let  them  abide  with  Thee,  and  serve  Thee  still ! 


THE  LINCOLN  PROCLAMATION. 

PRESIDENT   LINCOLN'S   PROCLAMATION. 

"  Let  my  people  go  !  " 


~**IS  done !  'tis  done  !  the  word  is  spoken ; 
•*•       Oppression's  final  hour  is  nigh  ; 
The  spell  dissolves  ;  the  charm  is  broken ; 
Freedom's  glad  shout  shall  rend  the  sky ! 

On  the  great  dial-plate  of  ages, 

The  light,  advanced,  no  more  recedes ; 

On  and  yet  on,  the  historic  pages 

Reveal  God's  march  to  him  that  reads ! 

His  word  of  ancient  promise  keeping, 
That  wrong  at  last  shall  yield  to  right, 

He  comes,  —  no  more  His  justice  sleeping, — 
For  judgment  comes,  and  clothed  with  might! 

His  ear  hath  heard  the  bondman's  groaning : 
His  hand,  of  wrongs  the  score  hath  kept ; 

His  eye  hath  marked  when  mothers  moaning 
Like  Rachel,  for  their  children  wept. 

As  through  the  Land  of  Nile  resounding, 
His  voice  rang  out,  —  Let  Israel  go  ! 

So  rings  it  now,  clear,  loud,  confounding, 
To  ears  that  well  the  mandate  know. 


280  THE  LINCOLN  PROCLAMA  TION. 

Like  some  swift,  cleaving  blow,  'tis  falling 
On  proud  rebellion's  vaunting  crest ; 

The  loyal  and  the  brave  'tis  calling 
To  stand  for  freedom,  breast  to  breast. 

O  ye  who  long  in  hopeless  sorrow 

Have  toiled,  and  wept,  and  seen  no  dawn, 

There  breaks,  at  length,  a  glad  to-morrow  ; 
Wake  !  wake !  and  hail  the  joyous  morn. 

'Tis  freedom's  day !     Its  splendor  glancing 
From  hill  to  vale  shall  flood  the  land  ; 

'Tis  freedom's  sun  to  noon  advancing : 

Chains  burst,  —  they  drop  from  every  hand  ! 

O,  not  in  vain  that  blood  is  flowing 
That  stains  yon  fields  of  gory  strife ; 

With  loftier  hopes  and  wishes  glowing, 
Millions  are  born  to  nobler  life. 

With  freedom's  flame  glad  hearts  are  burning ; 

They  throb  with  joy  before  unknown  ; 
To  visions  bright  glad  eyes  are  turning, 

Gleams  of  a  future  all  their  own. 

God  haste  it !  Holy  souls  are  praying, 
Come  freedom's  hour  with  swiftest  speed ! 

God  haste  it !  long,  ah  !  long  delaying, 
Now,  now  our  hosts  to  victory  lead ! 


RESTLESSNESS  AND  REST. 


RESTLESSNESS   AND   REST. 

i. 

TELL  me  where  the  skies  are  fair, 

Where  mist  and  gloom  brood  never ; 
Where  rise  no  fears  and  fall  no  tears, 
But  gladness  reigneth  ever. 

O  tell  me,  pray,  where  no  decay 

All  loveliness  must  wither  ; 
Show  me  some  spot  where  death  reigns  not, 

And  guide  my  footsteps  thither. 

Long  tempest-tossed,  oft  well-nigh  lost, 

With  raging  seas  contending, 
Some  haven  kind  I  fain  would  find, 

These  toils  and  perils  ending. 

Give  me  a  home,  no  more  to  roam 
Thenceforth,  a  lonely  stranger ; 

A  home  secure,  with  joys  all  pure, 
That  knows  nor  dread  nor  danger. 

Some  region  blest,  where  peace  and  rest 

Abide,  I  would  discover  ;     f 
Where  heart  from  heart  no  fate  must  part, 

No  force  wreuch  loved  from  lover. 

Where  zephyrs  sweet  with  perfume  greet, 

Nor  fade  for  aye  the  flowers  ; 
Where  soft  light  gleams  on  tranquil  streams, 

And  sleeps  on  summer  bowers. 


282  RESTLESSNESS  AND  REST, 

All  idly  still  its  depths  to  fill, 
This  restless  soul  is  pining  ; 

Yet  pines  in  vain,  —  with  ceaseless  pain 
Sees  hope's  bright  star  declining. 

For  life  I  long,  where  fresh  and  strong, 

Her  vigor  never  waning, 
My  soul  may  climb  to  heights  sublime, 

New  visions  ever  gaining. 

Where  noble  deeds  win  noble  meeds, 

And  glory  is  no  bubble ; 
Where  joy's  glad  sun  his  race  shall  run, 

Undimmed  by  shade  of  trouble. 

Where  spirits  blest  profoundly  rest, 
Their  fruitless  searchings  ended  ; 

Yet  vital  still,  achieve  at  will, 
No  weariness  attending. 


u. 

O  mortal,  hear  !     A  Friend  is  near, 
Whose  heart  to  thee  o'erfloweth  ; 

Thy  love  He  seeks,  to  thee  He  speaks, 
Thy  deep  unrest  He  knoweth. 

About  thy  path  his  way  He  hath, 

Though  ne'er  His  tread  thou  hearest ; 

Thy  steps  with  power  He  keeps  each  hour, 
And  in  thy  strait  is  nearest. 


RESTLESSNESS  AND  REST. 

If  tempter  charm,  or  work  thee  harm, 
Thy  heart's  strongholds  assailing, 

To  break  the  spell  He  knoweth  well, 
Each  deadly  art  unveiling. 

All  thou  wouldst  gain,  hast  sought  in  vain, 
And  yearned  for  in  thy  sorrow, 

Hast  missed  each  day  with  feet  astray, 
And  sought  again  each  morrow  ; 

With  love's  sweet  care  He  doth  prepare, 

And  giveth  without  measure  ; 
Beyond  thy  thought  and  all  unbought, 

Gives  He  the  soul's  best  treasure. 

From  earth  afar,  beyond  night's  star, 

There  is  a  sky  unshaded  ; 
A  clime  all  bright  with  God's  own  light, 

By  no  heart-pang  invaded. 

Lift  up  thine  eye  !     That  home  on  high,  — 

How  like  the  sun  it  gloweth  ! 
Within  those  gates  a  glory  waits, 

Such  as  no  mortal  knoweth. 

There,  there  at  length,  is  life  in  strength, 

And  being  full  of  blessing, 
And  honor  fair  thy  brow  shall  wear, 

Thy  feet  that  pavement  pressing. 

O,  there  no  more  shall  love  deplore 

Its  richest  treasures  wasted  ; 
For  joy  soon  fled  and  beauty  dead, 

No  bitter  cup  be  tasted. 


TO    TILLIE   ON  HER  BIRTHDAY. 

Deep  there  shall  glide  the  placid  tide 

Of  peace  serene,  eternal, 
And  high  pursuit  shall  reap  its  fruit, 

Through  seasons  ever  vernal. 

Once  reached  that  goal,  thy  longing  soul 
Shall  ache  with  longings  never ; 

Thy  spirit  filled,  its  wishes  stilled, 
In  God  shall  REST  FOR  EVER  ! 


TO  TILLIE  ON   HER   BIRTHDAY. 


"TV  /TETHINKS  that  on  this  joyous  natal  morn, 
-L»-*-     Backward,  dear  girl,  thy  gentle  thought  hath 
strayed, 

And  'mid  the  golden  blushes  of  the  dawn 

Of  early  childhood  thou  again  hast  played. 
Ah  !  beautiful  in  the  dim  past  appears 

That  early  twilight  when  all  things  were  fair ; 

When  blithe  birds  carolled  to  the  morning  air, 

And  thou  as  yet  didst  feel  no  boding  fears : 
Sweet  memories  !   As  they  rise,  thine  eye  doth  wear 

A  tender  look,  half  sorrow  and  half  joy ! 

For  childhood's  dreams  are  vanished,  and  now  care, 
And  sober  thoughts,  and  noble  aims  employ 

Thy  earnest  woman's  soul ;  the  future  calls  ; 

On  !  on  !  God  give  thee  strength  till  evening  falls  ! 


VAUCLUSE. 


VAUCLUSE. 


PASSING  the  bridge,  you  stand  in  front  of  a  grand  cliff  rising  perpendicularly  nearly 
eight  hundred  feet.  You  ascend  by  a  winding  path  along  the  rapid  stream  to  the  base 
of  the  mountain,  and  there,  under  the  shelving  rock,  you  find  a  natural  reservoir, 
some  fifty  feet  across,  and  said  to  be  on  one  side  more  than  a  hundred  feet  in  depth. 
The  sun  never  shines  into  it.  The  water  lies  perfectly  tranquil,  is  of  the  deepest  blue, 
and,  on  the  shallower  side,  you  can  see  the  pebbles  go  shelving  down  as  far  as  the  eye 
can  follow  them. 


OTERN,  solemn,  grand,  far  up  the  dark  blue  heaven, 
^    Thou  old  gray  cliff,  thou  heav'st  thine  awful  form ! 

On  the  wide  waste  of  years  a  beacon  given, 

Lonely  and  bare,  and  scarred  by  time  and  storm  ; 
•Hard  at  thy  base,  where  all  day  shadows  sleep, 

Spreads  the  wide  grotto,  overarching  high  ; 

Adown  its  mossy  sides  the  cold  tears  weep, 

And  in  its  lap  the  crystal  waters  lie, 
In  sweet  repose,  as  if  there  ventured  nigh 

This  still  retreat  no  rude  disturbing  power ; 

No  sound  to  pain  the  ear,  no  sight  the  eye  ; 
Peace  was  not  more  profound  in  Eden's  bower  ; 

Far  down  the  depths  the  pebbly  slope  is  seen, 

Then  azure  shades  unpierced  by  vision  keen. 

IT. 

'Tis  such  a  spot  as  poets  oft  have  sung, 
Or  fancy  pictured  in  her  wildest  dream  ; 
A  spot  the  which,  while  yet  the  world  was  young, 
Had  peopled  been  with  Naiads,  and  the  stream, 


VAUCLUSE. 

Along  whose  murmuring  course  sweet  odors  breathe 
From  beds  of  fragrant  thyme  and  roses  wild, 
Had  been  the  haunt  of  Fays,  that  came  to  wreathe 
Their  flowery  garlands  when  the  moonbeams  smiled  ; 

Now  gushing  forth  through  portals  all  unseen, 
And  bubbling  upward  to  the  light  of  day,  '•  ,  ,v 
It  dashes  onward  the  rough  rocks  between, 

With  sparkling  foam,  —  then  sweeps  its  winding  way 
Down  the  long  steep, — then  its  rash  speed  re 
strains, 
And  bears  fresh  beauty  to  the  blooming  plains. 

in. 
Petrarca's  Fountain  !     Yes,  thou  bear'st  his  name  ; 

A  name  that  distant  ages  shall  rehearse  ; 

A  name  that  soareth  not  alone  to  fame, 

Married  to  Laura's  in  immortal  verse ! 
Oft  came  he  musing  to  the  cooling  shade, 

When  scorched  the  summer's  sun  with  noontide  ray; 

At  twilight  thither  oft  his  footsteps  strayed, 

To  while  with  thee  the  pensive  hour  away : 
Now,  seated  thoughtful  by  thy  rocky  side, 

A  soft,  kind  influence  steals  through  all  his  soul ; 

Bright,  airy  visions  now  before  him  glide ; 
Now,  mark  the  tears  of  tenderness  that  roll ! 

Fixed  is  his  gaze,  but  the  winged  soul  is  free; 

He  thinks  on  LAURA,  though  he  looks  on  THEE  !  l 

1  These  sonnets,  more  than  any  others,  perhaps,  should  have  been 
constructed  on  the  Petrarchian  model,  considering  the  genius  loci. 
But,  written  as  they  were  immediately  under  the  inspiration  of  the 
visits,  the  author  thought  of  nothing,  at  the  time,  but  of  giving 
expression  to  what  he  felt.  The  older  English  writers,  however,  as 
Shakspeare,  for  example,  commonly  used  this  simple  construction. 


SUNSET. 

SUNSET. 

"Sol  occidit,  nulla  nox  secuta  est." 

I  SEE  the  sun  of  life  descend  ; 
The  mountains  gather  deeper  blue, 
The  shadows  on  the  plain  extend, 
The  forests  wear  eve's  saffron  hue. 

I  know  that  sun,  ere  long,  must  set, 
And  darkness  shut  the  eye  of  day  ; 

That  night's  chill  dews  this  brow  must  wet, 
Where  thinly  spread  these  locks  of  gray. 

Ye  silvery  paths,  that  childhood's  feet 

Through  many  a  dreamy  hour  have  prest ! 

Ye  fairy  scenes  that,  all  too  fleet, 
Swept  by  like  visions  of  the  blest ! 

Far,  far  away  your  morning,  bright 
In  cloudless  beauty,  seems  to  lie ; 

Then  earth  and  heaven  were  bathed  in  light, 
And  rich  in  splendors,  —  soon  to  die  ! 

Long  gone  the  years  of  youthful  prime, 
When  life  was  strength  and  striving  play ; 

When  duty's  rugged  steeps  to  climb 
My  heart  beat  quick  and  asked  the  way. 

Thou,  manhood  ripe,  art  left  behind  ; 

Thy  many  a  battle  lost  or  won, 
Thy  many  a  burning  hope  resigned, 

Thy  many  a  patient  labor  done  ! 


SUNSET. 

Not  all  in  vain  the  toil  and  care, 

When  on  thy  hard  fought  fields  I  stood, 

Well  pleased  each  contest  high  to  share, 
For  God  and  duty,  with  the  good. 

Yet  might  I  vanished  years  bring  back, 
I  would  not  choose  their  round  restore  ; 

Lest  smaller  joy  should  mark  their  track, 
Or  pangs  yet  keener  than  before. 

Why  should  I  ask  again  to  try 

Pleasures  once  chased  with  eager  feet, 

That  in  the  tasting  seemed  to  die  ; 
To  cheer  a  famished  soul,  unmeet  ? 

Why  should  I  wish  afresh  to  drink, 
At  sorrow's  hand,  the  cup  of  gall  ? 

Or  press  in  tears  the  grave's  dark  brink, 
Wide  yawning  to  engulf  my  all  ? 

No  ;  pains  and  perils  of  the  past, 

Enough,  —  enough  !     Return  no  more  ! 

The  sailor,  near  his  port  at  last, 

Would  not  rewake  the  tempest's  roar ! 

Though  steals  the  deepening  twilight  on, 
And  day's  last  beams  must  soon  depart, 

Yet  deem  I  not  that  joys  are  gone, 
Nor  onward  tread  with  saddened  heart. 

Ah  !  life  is  more  than  earth's  brief  years  ; 

Beyond,  there  wait,  —  O  gift  divine  !  — 
Ages  that  know  nor  pangs  nor  fears, 

But  life's  perfection,  —  these  are  mine  !  - 


TO  MY  SISTER. 

Then,  sunset,  bring  the  welcome  shade  ; 

Though  o'er  me  deepest  darkness  lowers, 
No  terrors  shall  this  breast  invade, 

No  vain  regrets  for  vanished  hours. 

O  Love !  that  all  my  steps  hast  led, 
To  thy  dear  hand  I  trustful  cling  ; 

O  blessed  night !  that,  swiftly  sped, 

Heaven's  sweet  and  holy  dawn  shalt  bring. 


TO   MY   SISTER. 
ON  HER  WEDDING  DAY. 

r  I  ""HE  hour  is  come,  my  Sister, 
•*-     When  thou  givest  thy  plighted  hand, 
And  the  nuptial  throng  are  gathered, 

A  youthful,  brilliant  band : 
Each  heart  is  filled  with  gladness, 

As  the  bridal  wreath  they  twine, 
And  'twere  wrong  that  a  shade  of  sadness 

Should  cloud  that  brow  of  thine. 

True  thou  leavest  now,  my  sister, 

Youth's  bright  and  careless  ring, 
And  graver  thoughts  await  thee, 

And  cares  in  thy  pathway  spring  ; 
Yet  let  not  a  tear-drop  falling 

O'ercast  thy  smiles  to-day, 
'Tis  the  voice  of  love  that's  calling 

From  the  old  dear  scenes  away. 
19 


.  290  TO  MY  SISTER. 


The  heart  thou  hast  loved,  my  sister, 

The  heart  thou  hast  loved  is  warm  ; 
Doubt  not  thou  wilt  find  it  faithful, 

True  alike  amid  calm  and  storm  : 
In  the  calm  it  will  tenderly  cherish, 

In  the  storm  it  will  firmly  defend, 
And,  though  other  trusts  may  perish, 

This,  this  shall  not  fail  till  life  end. 

I  have  loved  thee  well,  my  sister, 

I  have  watched  thee  many  a  year ; 
Can  I  see  thee  from  me  passing, 

And  stay  the  uprising  tear  ? 
Yes,  go  !  long  nurtured  flower, 

Yes,  go  !  and  I'll  not  repine ; 
Though  plucked  from  my  own  dear  bower, 

I  yield  thee,  —  thy  joy  is  mine. 

Heaven  send  thee  its  blessing,  dear  sister, 

The  light  of  God's  love  be  o'erthrown, 
The  angels  be  ever  around  thee, 

Thy  heart  be  as  blest  as  my  own : 
Then  when  death,  which  earth's  ties  must 
dissever, 

Shall  bear  thee  o'er  the  dark  tide, 
Go  wander  and  love  for  ever, 

The  calm  waters  of  heaven  beside. 


TO  DEATH. 


TO    DEATH. 

TV  /TEN  wrong  thee,  Death  ! 

-»•*-*•     They  fashion  thee  a  monster  grim, 

With  lifted  dart, 

Intent  to  strike  thy  victim's  heart ; 
The  light  of  day  to  quench  for  him, 
To  wrench  him  from  his  joys  away, 
And  doom  to  moulder  in  decay, 

The  turf  beneath. 

Thou  seem'st  a  foe  ; 
And  mortals  quail  to  see  thee  come 

With  tread  so  still, 
With  sable  robe  and  breath  so  chill, 
And  finger  beckoning  to  the  tomb, 
Thy  heralds  hollow  groans  and  sighs, 
And  breaking  hearts  and  streaming  eyes,  — 

All  signs  of  woe. 

To  shun  thy  hour 
The  living  deem  the  chief  of  cares  ; 

With  hurried  flight, 
As  from  some  horrid  spectral  sight, 
They  speed  till  their  hot  haste  prepares 
The  worn-out  springs  of  life  to  break, 
And  thine  an  easy  triumph  make 

O'er  mortal  power. 


TO  DEATH. 

The  few  who  dare 
To  seek  thee  are  the  rash,  the  mad, 

In  frenzy  wild, 

By  some  delirious  dream  beguiled  ; 
The  wretch,  the  hopeless,  blindly  glad 
From  present  misery's  rack  to  fly, 
And  reckless,  though  they  see  on  high 

Thy  shaft  made  bare. 

What  hidden  lies 
Beyond  thy  bourne  for  souls  unshriven, 

By  guilt  deep  stained, 
When  at  the  eternal  bar  arraigned, 
Where  just  award  to  each  is  given, 
Thy  victims,  Death,  may  well  appall, 
Whom  no  celestial  voice  shall  call 

Heavenward  to  rise. 

To  Faith's  keen  eye 
Thou,  Death,  art  life ;  'tis  but  to  sense 

That  thine  are  dead  ;   . 
No  cruel  shaft  by  thee  is  sped  ; 
'Tis  not  thy  will  that  hurries  hence, 
Sets  life's  brief  limit  and  ordains 
The  gloom,  the  sorrows,  and  the  pains 

That  speak  thee  nigh. 

Heaven's  high  behest 
All  these  hath  fixed  for  wayward  man  ; 

Offspring  of  sin, 

The  terrors  round  that  gate  have  been 
Through  which,  ere  since  thy  reign  began, 


TO  DEATH. 

All  mortal  steps  must  tread  to  see 
The  dawn  of  immortality, 
Its  visions  blest. 


Kind  Death  !     Tis  thine 
To  cool  the  fever  of  the  brain, 

At  once  to  still 

Qf  fretted  nerves  the  torturing  thrill, 
To  end  the  lingering  days  of  pain, 
To  dry  all  tears  for  evermore, 
To  lift  the  veil  that  hid  before 

The  Home  divine. 


When  lifted  high, 
The  Son  of  God  in  anguish  hung, 

And  on  His  head 
The  burdens  of  a  world  were  laid, 
Till  groans  from  His  parched  lips  were  wrung  ; 
'Twas  thine  to  come  with  sweet  relief, 
To  end  the  Sufferer's  mighty  grief 

In  one  last  sigh  ! 


From  yon  blest  shores, 
When  souls  redeemed  shall  backward  turn 

To  look  on  thee, 
All  beautiful  thy  form  shall  be  ; 
Thy  ministries,  once  deemed  so  stern, 
Shall  seem  sweet  ministries  of  grace 
For  ever  to  unveil  the  face 

That  Heaven  adores ! 


THE   WIFE. 

Death  !  Death  !     The  word 
No  more  shall  be  a  name  of  fear, 

My  joy  to  kill, 

While  years,  or  days,  life's  measure  fill ; 
My  soul,  when  she  thy  voice  shall  hear, 
Aside  her  mortal  robe  shall  cast, 
Stretch  her  swift  wing  and  mount  at  last 

To  meet  her  Lord  ! 


SONG:   THE  WIFE.      . 

\\  7"HEN  through  dark  wilds  and  doubtful 

*  '      mazes, 

O'er  thorny  paths  perplexed  I  rove, 
A'nd  many  a  luring  meteor  blazes, 

And  patience  many  an  hour  hath  strove ; 
When  worn  with  care,  my  spirit  sinking, 

No  more  elastic,  strong,  and  free, 
Despondency's  sad  draught  is  drinking, 

And  hopes  like  fading  shadows  flee ; 
Oppressed,  half-weary  of  my  life, 
Thou  art  my  solace,  faithful  wife ! 

Like  some  lone  spot  of  verdure  springing, 
The  desert's  dreary  waste  to  cheer, 

Which,  chance  the  weary  wanderer  bringing, 
Yields  soft  repose  by  fountains  clear ; 

E'en  thus,  on  earth's  wide  desert  smiling, 
Appears  my  home,  one  fairer  spot, 


THE   WIFE. 

Where  joy  springs  fresh,  each  care  beguiling, 

And  noise  and  discord  enter  not ; 
Of  home,  bright  resting-place  of  life, 
Thou  art  the  soul,  my  noble  wife ! 

When,  duty's  urgent  call  obeying, 

I  wander  from  that  home  and  thee, 
My  truant  thought  is  ever  straying 

Backward  thy  gentle  face  to  see ; 
And  when  again  my  footsteps  turning 

Bear  me  thy  warm  embrace  to  meet, 
That  thought  with  fond  impatience  burning 

Sweeps  onward  than  the  wind  more  fleet, 
And  stays  not  till,  life  of  my  life, 
It  rests  with  thee,  my  charming  wife  ! 

When  comes  at  length  the  hour  of  meeting, 

I  give  and  take  the  fervent  kiss  ; 
Oh,  with  the  thrill  of  such  a  greeting 

Can  earth  compare  another  bliss  ? 
The  joy  of  that  eternal  union 

That  ransomed  spirits  round  God's  throne 
Unites  in  heaven's  own  blest  communion, 

Excels  it,  but  excels  alone  ; 
That  be  it  mine,  to  endless  life, 
With  thee  to  share,  my  angel-wife ! 


THE  SPIRIT'S  LIFE. 


THE   SPIRIT'S   LIFE. 


THE  following  poem  was  delivered  before  the  Literary  Fraternity,  Waterville  Col 
lege,  and  the  Porter  Rhetorical  Society,  Theological  Seminary,  Andover,  at  their 
anniversaries,  August  and  September,  1837. 


WHEN  from  her  course,  o'er  stormy  billows  driven, 
Some  gallant  ship  on  fatal  rocks  is  riven, 
The  hapless  sailor,  cast  upon  the  shore, 
To  see  his  home  and  native  land  no  more, 
Deems  all  around  him  desolate  ;  and  vain 
The  hope  that  he  shall  e'er  be  glad,  again : 
But  when  revolving  years  prolong  his  stay, 
They  steal,  by  slow  degrees,  his  gloom  away ; 
Till  used,  —  the  heart  is  o'er  the  world  the  same,  — 
To  call  it  Home,  —  he  loves  it  for  the  name. 

So  is  it  with  us  all :  since  when  exiled 
From  the  dear  spot  where  early  Eden  smiled, 
Where  perfect  man  'mid  perfect  beauty  trod, 
And  innocent,  like  angels,  walked  with  God, 
Strangers  and  friendless  on  the  lone  world  thrown, 
We  sigh  for  blooming  seats  no  more  our  own : 
But  doomed  returnless,  wisdom  bids  us  prove 
What  ills  we  may  but  suffer,  what  remove : 
By  hard  experience  taught  the  priceless  skill 
From  sorrow  joy  to  draw,  and  good  from  ill, 
Yet  a  few  flowers  we  teach  around  to  grow, 
And  though  we  reach  not  bliss,  escape  from  woe. 


THE  SPIRIT'S  LIFE. 

We  live  a  twofold  life :  the  grosser  sense, 
Allied  to  earth,  must  draw  its  life  from  thence ; 
A  life  oft  harassed  by  unfilled  desire, 
Whose  joys  are  transient,  and  whose  hopes  expire : 
Not  by  the  noble  mind  too  highly  prized, 
Nor  yet,  by  God  appointed,  all  despised. 

The  Spirit,  of  an  essence  half  divine, 
Hath  its  own  proper  life ;  nor  may  resign 
The  high  prerogative,  that  bids  transcend 
Dull  sense,  and  make  the  invisible  its  end, 
Its  home  the  universe.     It  LIVES  but  where 
It  finds  the  PERFECT  and  the  TRUE  and  FAIR. 


Not  they  who  eager  throng  the  crowded  mart 
Where  Fortune  waits  her  favors  to  impart ; 
Nor  they  who  sit  where  pleasure  wreaths  her  bower ; 
Nor  they  who  climb  the  giddy  heights  of  power ; 
Nor  they  who  curious  rove  from  clime  to  clime  ; 
Nor  they  whom  learning  tempts  to  plunder  time,  — 
Attain  what  may  the  inward  thirst  supply, 
And  gild  life's  moments  as  they  hasten  by : 
'Tis  theirs  whose  youth,  whose  manhood,  and  whos.e 

age 
The  BEAUTIFUL,  the  TRUE,  the  GOOD,  engage. 

Say  what  is  Beauty,  and  direct  us  where. 
What  hearts  may  feel,  but  never  words  declare. 
'Tis  nature's  mystery,  —  a  silent  spell, 
That  chains  the  soul  like  music's  gifted  shell ; 
'Tis  the  pleased  spirit's  harmony ;  the  thrill 
Of  chords  by  unseen  fingers  touched  with  skill ; 


THE  SPIRIT'S  LIFE. 

Of  power  to  calm,  when  stormy  passions  move, 
And  wake  the  soul  to  tenderness  and  love. 

Where  is  it,  askest  thou :  expand  thy  soul 
To  grasp  of  finite  things  the  mighty  whole : 
Scan  with  attentive  eye  each  part  in  turn; 
The  stars  that  glitter,  and  the  suns  that  burn/ 
Far  as  the  assisted  orb  can  stretch  its  view : 
The  broad  expanse,  where  God's  own  finger  drew 
The  path  of  moving  worlds,  through  which  they  urge 
Eternally  their  flight,  nor  once  diverge : 
The  azure  air,  where  fleecy  clouds  repose, 
And  float  majestic  as  it  ebbs  and  flows ; 
Or  kindle  in  the  sun's  departing  glow ; 
Or,  darkly  frowning,  arch  the  mystic  bow : 
The  sea,  that  moaning  heaves  its  foaming  crest, 
Or  sleeps  unruffled,  when  the  tempests  rest : 
The  earth,  that  once  accursed  when  sin  began, 
Forgetful  of  the  wrong  still  blooms  for  man : 
Morn,  when  it  purples  all  the  eastern  hill : 
Eve,  when  the  stars  are  mirrored  in  the  rill : 
All  nature's  noble  face  is  bright  and  fair, 
The  smile  of  beauty  plays  for  ever  there. 

But  nicer  shades  the  searching  eye  may  trace ; 
Minuter  study  shows  diviner  grace  : 
Each  single  object,  perfect  in  each  part, 
Each  scene  complete,  with  wonder  fills  the  heart. 

Exchange  the  busy  city  or  the  town 
For  the  lone  wilderness.     There  sit  thee  down 
Where  waves  the  pine  amid  the  clear  blue  sky, 
And  greets  the  breathing  zephyr  with  a  sigh  : 


THE  SPIRIT'S  LIFE. 

The  Gothic  fir,  that  lifts  its  head  in  pride, 

Nor  bows,  though  tempests  sweep  the  forest  wide, 

Stands  in  still  majesty.     Encircling  round, 

A  thousand  names  in  wild  disorder  found 

Blend  all  their  thousand  shades  of  varied  green, 

And  open  far  retreating  glades  between. 

Like  a  fair  child  at  play,  the  mountain  stream 

Leaps  babbling  by,  and  sparkles  in  the  beam 

That  falls  where  parted  boughs  a  path  disclose : 

Athwart  the  old  moss  oak  its  long  arms  throws, 

As  age  bends  over  youth  ;  while  o'er  the  brink 

The  rose  and  lily  stoop,  as  if  to  drink. 

The  timid  fawn  is  there  to  slake  his  thirst : 

The  thrasher  and  the  blue  jay  safe  have  nursed 

Their  unfledged  young,  and  pour  their  clear  wild  notes, 

That  one  may  deem  an  angel  chorus  floats : 

And  flowers  by  God's  own  care  unnumbered  spring, 

And  'mid  the  maze  of  beauty  fragrance  fling. 

Turn  next  where  man  essays,  with  patient  toil, 
To  disembowel  earth ;  and  mark  the  spoil 
Which  forth  he  drags,  his  labor  to  repay. 
See  where  the  sunbeams  on  the  crystal  play, 
Or  fall,  refracted  by  the  brilliant  gem, 
Destined  to  grace  a  monarch's  diadem ; 
Note  the  bright  masses  of  the  precious  ore, 
Henceforth  to  swell  the  rich  man's  coffered  store  : 
On  all  the  products  of  the  teeming  mine, 
Beauty  is  writ  in  characters  divine. 

Or,  leaving  nature,  fix  thy  roving  thought 
On  the  fair  works  that  human  skill  hath  wrought. 


THE  SPIRIT'S  LIFE. 

Eternal  Rome's  proud  Vatican  go  tread  ; 

Rich  mausoleum  of  the  gifted  dead  : 

Where  sculpture  bids  the  marble  bosom  heave, 

The  lip  to  utter,  and  the  eye  to  grieve  ; 

Give  to  the  wretch  Laocoon  a  tear ; 

Or  gaze  in  silence  on  the  Belvidere ; 

Pause  where,  with  pencil  dipped  in  magic  dye, 

Painting  transcends  all  hues  of  earth  and  sky ; 

And  while  thy  rapt  soul  feels  the  mighty  spell 

Of  gorgeous  Titian,  or  bold  Raphael, 

That  fixed  in  wonder,  thou  couldst  ever  wait, 

Learn  what  the  beauty  genius  can  create. 

And  there  is  beauty  on  the  classic  page ; 
Immortal  product  of  each  perished  age : 
Where  graphic  Homer,  master  of  the  lyre, 
Or  melts  to  pity,  or  inflames  to  ire : 
Where  Plato,  half  divine,  intensely  soars, 
And  wide,  unfathomed  realms  of  thought  explores : 
Where  breathes,  chaste  Virgil,  thy  sweet,  tuneful  lay; 
Or  the  thronged  forum  owns  rich  Tully's  sway ; 
Or  where  Petrarca  sighs  in  later  time  ; 
Or  Dante's  numbers  roll,  —  dark,  wild,  sublime; 
Or  our  own  Milton,  with  adventurous  flight, 
Sweeps  heaven  and  hell,  and  "  chaos  and  old  night ; " 
Where  gentle  Addison  provokes  a  smile, 
And  to  fair  virtue  wins  the  heart  the  while ; 
Or  splendid  Burke  pours  his  exhaustless  stream  ; 
Or  Johnson  kindles  on  the  moral  theme. 

But  close  the  eye  of  sense,  and  thou  shalt  find 
Yet  fairer  forms  of  beauty  in  the  mind. 


THE  SPIRIT'S  LIFE.  30 1 

The  inward  eye  hath  vision  more  serene  ; 

It  sees  a  world  no  eye  of  sense  hath-  seen ; 

Ideal  all,  transcendent,  ever  bright : 

Imagination  thither  bends  her  flight, 

Bids  the  charmed  soul  'mid  radiant  forms  to  range, 

And  hues  that  fade  not,  yet  for  ever  change ; 

And  there  where  soft  eternal  sunlight  gleams, 

Find  calm  repose,  and  dream  bright  glorious  dreams ! 

AND   WHAT   is   TRUTH  ?     Thou   Source   of   truth 

benign, 

Light  in  whose  light  we  see,  to  say  is  Thine ! 
'Tis  the  great  sum  of  all  Thy  will  hath  wrought : 
The  antitype  of  THINE  ETERNAL  THOUGHT. 

Go,  grave  inquirer,  search  the  plan  profound, 
Of  God  ordained,  or  ever  years  rolled  round ; 
Which  firmly  fixed  what  nature's  laws  we  call, 
That  bid  the  planet  roll,  the  pebble  fall ; 
That  atoms  join,  by  close  attraction  held, 
Or  sever,  by  repulsive  force  impelled  ; 
That  send  the  Spring's  sweet  blush,  the  Summer's 

bloom, 

The  Autumn's  riches,  and  the  Winter's  gloom ; 
That  all  the  changes  of  all  things  control, 
And  bind  in  wondrous  harmony  the  whole. 

•  Enter  man's  inmost  soul ;  the  search  pursue : 
A  voice,  than  Delphic  oracle  more  true, 
Shall  utter  its  response,  nor  once  deceive 
What  ear  may  listen,  or  what  heart  believe ; 
Shall  whisper  truth  by  intuition  taught, 
Or  drawn  by  reason  from  the  wells  of  thought : 


THE  SPIRIT'S  LIFE. 

Shall  bid  thee  to  the  Infinite  ascend, 
To  God,  Eternity,  thy  being's  end ; 
Reveal  thee  subject  to  the  changeless  throne, 
And  speak  unending  ages  all  thine  own. 

The  Book  of  God  unfold.     There  radiant  shine, 
By  his  own  Spirit  written,  truths  divine. 
Lo !  where  thick  clouds  and  flame  his  way  attend, 
On  shuddering  Sinai's  top  the  Lord  descend ! 
While  the  shrill  trump  affrights  the  startled  ear, 
And  thrills  the  heart,  rebellious  Israel  hear 
Man's  sum  of  duty  down  to  latest  time, 
By  God's  own  awful  voice  pronounced  sublime. 
The  harp  of  Prophecy,  in  lofty  lays, 
Pours  the  rich  notes  of  truth  in  after  days  : 
Till  He  whose  name  is  Truth,  bright  Morning  Star, 
Bursts  on  the  world  and  spreads  his  beams  afar! 

O  sacred  Truth  !     Say  if  thou  may'st  be  found 
Above,  beneath,  within  us  and  around ; 
Why  from  the  many  liest  thou  all  concealed  ? 
Why  to  the  favored  few  alone  revealed  ? 
Methinks  I  hear  thy  gentle  voice  reply, 
'Tis  these  alone  that  search  with  single  eye : 
The  many,  or  with  pride  or  passion  blind, 
But  seem  to  seek,  and  therefore  may  not  find. 
The  schoolman,  learned,  mystical,  acute  ; 
The  pedant,  vain,  conceited,  and  astute ; 
The  skeptic,  ever  on  suspicion  bent, 
To  evidence  too  weak  to  yield  assent ; 
The  caviller,  who  each  argument  gainsays, 
Of  tact  or  wit  ambitious  of  the  praise ; 


THE  SPIRIT'S  LIFE. 

The  reckless,  who,  if  Truth  or  stand  or  fall, 
Alike  unheeding,  never  think  at  all ; 
Such,  self-deluded,  I  forsake  to  cheer 
The  childlike  spirit,  humble,  yet  sincere. 

CELESTIAL  GOODNESS  !  may  we  speak  thy  name, 
Nor  feel  each  cheek  consume  with  burning  shame  ? 
We've  banished  thee !     Yet  deign'st  thou  to  return, 
With  them  to  linger  who  unheed  or  spurn  ? 
Ah  !  how  unlike  this  sombre  world  of  crime, 
Of  violence  and  wrath,  to  that  fair  clime, 
Thy  native  seat,  where  myriad  harps  are  strung 
To  hymn  thy  praise,  and  dulcet  strains  are  sung  ! 
Earth's  hapless  region,  grating  discords  fill ; 
Dark  malice  roams  unchained,  intent  on  ill, 
And  leering  envy  lurks  in  many  a  breast, 
And  reign  insatiate  lusts  that  know  no  rest : 
Now  calumny  lets  fly  the  envenomed  shaft ; 
Now  murder  grimly  pours  the  noxious  draught ; 
Or  strength  gives  weakness  to  rewardless  toil ; 
Or  lawless  rapine  revels  in  its  spoil ; 
War  fiercely  waves  the  desolating  brand, 
And  scatters  ruin  o'er  a  smiling  land ; 
And  peaceful  where  the  towering  city  stood, 
Leaves  smouldering  ruins  reeking  human  blood. 

Yet  Goodness  hath  not  bid  the  earth  farewell. 
Come  with  me  to  yon  lowly  cot,  where  dwell 
Want's  wretched  children.     Pale  disease  is  there: 
The  ghastly  cheek  and  wasted  limbs  declare 
Its  mortal  ravages  :  the  fevered  head 
Throbs  restless  on  the  hard  and  cheerless  bed : 


304  THE  SPIRIT'S  LIFE. 

It  is  a  widow  pines  ;  doomed  to  behold 

Victims  of  hunger,  nakedness,  and  cold, 

Her  lonely  babes  ;  and  many  a  bitter  tear 

Weeps  for  them  fatherless,  —  no  friend  is  near ! 

But  stay.     Like  some  kind  ministering  angel  sent, 

A  gentle  stranger  comes,  to  soothe  intent 

The  sufferer's  anguish,  and  to  bring  relief 

To  instant  woes ;  while  for  the  soul's  deep  grief 

She  offers  balm  eternal  love  hath  given, 

And  points  the  dying  eye  to  God  and  heaven  ! 

Come  listen  to  the  pining  prisoner's  moan : 
'Mid  the  deep  dungeon's  gloom,  desponding,  lone, 
He  lies  immured,  remote  from  cheerful  day, 
To  noxious  air  and  foul  disease  a  prey. 
No  mother's  love,  no  tender  sister's  smile, 
No  wife's  caress  the  dreary  hours  beguile ; 
Too  blest  might  end  his  anguish  with  his  breath, 
Impatient  chides  he  the  slow  pace  of  Death. 
Hark  !  swings  the  massy  door  with  grating  sound  ! 
'Tis  but  the  warder  treads  his  daily  round : 
No !  there  are  tones  of  kindness  :  how  they  roll 
Like  waves  of  blessedness  o'er  that  crushed  soul, 
Long,  long  resigned  to  desolate  despair ! 
Some  Howard,  breathing  goodness,  enters  there. 

Where  Gunga  wanders  to  the  distant  main, 
Embanked  by  spicy  grove  and  blooming  plain, 
Come  sit  thee  down  awhile.     The  sultry  day 
Is  o'er  ;  and  gorgeous  twilight  fades  away 
In  the  far  west ;  cool  down  the  rippling  stream 
The  perfumed  breezes  sweep,  while  every  beam 


THE  SPIRITS  LIFE.         ,  305 

The  moon  lets  fall  from  the  transparent  sky 
To  greet  the  wave,  reflected  meets  the  eye. 
And  all  is  silent,  save  the  measured  dash 
Of  yonder  oars,  that  in  the  soft  light  flash. 
How  beautiful !     But  hark !  that  piercing  cry, 
That  tells  some  tortured  heart's  deep  agony ! 
See !  'tis  a  mother !  and  her  arm  hath  pressed 
Her  cherub  infant  closely  to  her  breast ! 
Ah  !  'tis  her  last  embrace,  or  e'er  she  throws, 
And  o'er  the  innocent  the  waters  close  ! 
Stay,  frantic  mother !  nor  unclasp  thine  arm  ! 
Lay  not  thine  hand  upon  thy  babe  for  harm ! 
A  voice  as  if  from  heaven,  ere  yet  too  late, 
Prevents  the  sacrifice,  arrests  the  fate. 
Yes !  there  is  one  shall  bid  that  mother  care, 
With  nature's  yearning,  for  the  babe  she  bare; 
From  home  self-banished,  and  from  kindred  dear, 
He  came  to  light  her  soul,  to  calm  her  fear ; 
And  so  he  may  but  lift  her  thoughts  on  high, 
Consents  'neath  burning  suns  to  toil  and  die ! 

If  finite  Goodness  move  thee  to  admire, 
Thy  soul  shall  to  the  perfect  next  aspire : 
Thirst  for  the  Infinite,  resigned  no  more 
To  dwell  with  sin  and  hate,  and  upwards  soar : 
Through  purer  regions,  worlds  serenely  bright, 
And  ranks  of  spotless  beings,  urge  its  flight ; 
And  past  all  things  create,  shall  last  ascend 
To  God  Supreme,  in  Him  the  quest  to  end. 

O,  come  the  better  day,  when  every  gale 
That  sweeps  from  heaving  hill  or  sunny  vale 


THE  SPIRIT'S  LIFE. 

Shall  sweetly  breathe  of  purity  and  peace ! 

When  passion's  rage  and  party  strife  shall  cease : 

When  Learning,  from  her  venerated  halls, 

Shall  send  forth  sons  whom  no  fierce  summons  calls 

To  noisy  conflict,  that  lays  waste  the  mind, 

Nor  leaves  one  noble  sympathy  behind  ; 

When  like  the  surges  spent  upon  the  shore, 

The  waves  of  tumult  shall  forget  to  roar : 

Society  grow  calm  ;  and  men  begin, 

Withdrawn  from  outward  life,  to  live  within. 

That  life  earth's  every  joy  shall  twice  endear ; 

Give  nature  language,  and  the  soul  an  ear ; 

Make  reason  utter  truth,  the  soul  approve, 

And  pure  affections  the  pure  spirit  move ! 

Ah !  who  would  quench  the  nobler  spirit's  fire 
In  sensual  life,  —  the  life  of  low  desire  ? 
Who  spurn  the  holy  birthright  nature  gave, 
To  be  ambition's  fool,  and  pleasure's  slave  ? 
Let  such,  inglorious  and  perversely  blind, 
Grasp  meaner  things,  and  madly  starve  the  mind ; 
Ignoble  let  them  live,  and  nameless  die, 
And  "  Infamy  "  be  written  where  they  lie  ! 

But  ye,  whom  loftier  purposes  impel 
To  choose  the  richer  meed  of  living  well : 
Who  feel  the  spirit's  heaven  enkindled  flame 
Mount  upward  to  the  source  from  whence  it  came ; 
And  nerve  your  fervent  souls  for  worthier  strife, 
Instinct  with  inward  energy  and  life  : 
Ye  gaze,  alternate  filled  with  hopes  and  fears, 
Adown  the  vista  of  approaching  years, 


CLOUDS. 

As  conscious  many  a  storm  shall  fierce  assail, 
And  trembling,  lest  or  strength  or  courage  fail ; 
That  ye  may  calm  abide,  when  billows  roll, 
Commune  with  God,  with  Nature,  and  the  Soul : 
Nurture  the  Spirit  with  a  Spirit's  food ; 
O,  love  the  BEAUTIFUL,  the  TRUE,  the  GOOD  ! 


CLOUDS. 

WRITTEN  during  an  extraordinarily  protracted  season  of  cloudy  weather  in  Novem 
ber  and  December,  in  which,  for  five  or  six  weeks,  dull,  leaden-looking  clouds  covered 
the  sky,  with  very  little  rain,  scarcely  a  few  hours  of  sunshine  breaking  the  oppressive 
monotony. 

TT  7E  looked  when  wintry  winds  should  sweep, 
*  *     For  bright  blue  skies  and  clear  keen  air, 

That  should  all  life  in  motion  keep, 

Make  glad  the  soul  to  its  lowest  deep ; 
Should  bid  all  faces  a  lustre  wear, 

Give  nerve  to  climb  the  slippery  steep, 
Or  over  the  smooth  ice  firm  and  strong 
With  glee  and  shouting  to  course  along. 

But  dull  gray  clouds  for  days  have  spread 
O'er  the  wide  arching  heaven  ;  and  earth 

Hath  lost  its  smile,  its  glow  hath  fled, 

As  if  no  sun  were  high  o'erhead ; 

And  hearts  are  heavy,  and  joy  and  mirth 

Are  half  suppressed,  or  wholly  dead  : 
Life  hath  put  on  a  sombre  hue, 
And  eyes  look  drooping  and  words  are  few. 


CLOUDS. 


So  nicely  are  our  spirits  strung 

Responsive  to  each  sound  or  sight ; 

The  plaintive  wail  by  the  wild  wind  sung, 

The  leaden  look  of  the  sky  o'erhung 

With  vapors  that  darken  the  day's  pure  light, 

Bring  sadness,  like  cypress  shadows  flung 
Darkly  athwart  our  path,  till  slow 
And  solemn  the  tread,  as  we  come  and  go. 

Break  forth,  bright,  ever-shining  sun  ! 

These  brooding,  earth-born  mists  dispel ; 
In  the  blue  serene  thy  circuit  run, 
Pouring  thy  splendor  till  day  is  done ; 

Till  with  glad  thoughts  our  bosoms  swell, 
And  all  life  seems  as  if  fresh  begun : 

Full  of  vigor  and  hope  and  power, 

Crowding  with  deeds  each  joyous  hour. 

O  for  that  fairer  clime,  where  flow 

Eternal  days  of  health  and  gladness ! 
Where  never  a  howling  wind  shall  blow, 
Nor  cloud  the  gloom  of  its  shadows  throw, 

To  tinge  the  immortal  life  with  sadness  ; 
No  dreary  moments  that  life  shall  know, 

For  while  the  unending  cycles  fill, 

The  UNVEILED  THRONE  shall  be  cloudless  still ! 


THE   VIOLET'S  COMPLAINT. 


THE  VIOLET'S   COMPLAINT. 

HAT  meaneth  this?     Methought  the  friendly 

Spring, 

With  glowing  cheeks  and  smiles  and  perfumed  breath, 
Had  come  again,  —  grim  Winter  fled  at  last,  — 
To  set  up  her  glad  reign.     I  heard  her  steps 
Advancing,  —  so  it  seemed, — and,  watching,  saw 
Her  light  robes  waving  in  the  sportive  wind, 
And  knew  her  gladsome  voice.    Through  every  nerve 
I  felt  the  thrill  of  a  new-waking  life, 
"With  vital  warmth  rekindling,  after  sleep, — 
The  long  undreaming  sleep  'neath  wintry  drifts, — 
And  trustingly  unrolled  the  leaves  that  wrapped 
And  shielded  me,  baring  my  head,  that  now 
Ached  for  the  blessed  sunshine.     Ay,  yet  more, 
All  fearlessly  I  turned  the  drapery  back, 
And  opened  wide  my  bosom  to  drink  in 
Each  vernal  influence  kind.     O  fickle  maid, 
Thou  hast  deceived  me !     Thou  art  a  coquette, 
Toying  with  Winter,  who,  beguiled  by  thee, 
Lingers  in  dalliance  long  beyond  his  hour ! 
I  feel  his  icy  touch.     Cold  on  my  breast 
Unveiled  the  chilling  sleet  and  snow  descend, 
Freezing  my  life-blood,  pressing  me  to  earth, 
And  marring  my  fresh  beauty.     Cruel  one  ! 
How  shall  I  trust  henceforth  thy  promise  fair 
Or  heed  thy  wooings  and  thy  fond  caress, 
When  thou  wouldst  call  me  forth  ?    Thou  shouldst  be 
left 


THE  BIRTHDAY. 

Without  a  flower  wherewith  to  deck  thy  hair ; 
Without  one  pansy,  violet,  or  rose 
To  sleep  upon  thy  bosom,  or  to  breathe 
The  odors  that  thou  lovest  round  thy  head. 

All  this  and  more  thou  hast  deserved  ;  and  yet 
Full  well  I  know  that,  should  I  but  survive 
This  dreariness,  and  once  more  see  thy  face, 
And  hear  thy  train  of  songsters  in  the  groves, 
And  all  thy  witching  influences  feel, 
I  shall  forget  this  wrong,  —  shall  straight  relent, 
And  greet  thee  as  of  old,  and  to  thy  sense 
Yield  my  best  fragrance  and  my  loveliest  hues, 
Thenceforth  content  to  live  and  bloom  for  thee ! 
Such  is  thy  power,  —  thy  magic  power,  —  to  steal 
The  hearts  of  flowers ;  and  such  the  instinct  deep 
By  Heaven  implanted  in  the  violet's  breast. 


THE   BIRTHDAY. 
MAY  2,  1834. 

TO-DAY  just  eight-and-twenty  years, 
A  day  of  mingled  hopes  and  fears, 
Remembered  well,  though  now  afar, 
Rose  on  the  world  an  unknown  star. 
Unknown,  yet  not  unlocked  for,  came 
The  trembling  thing  without  a  name! 
Emerging  from  the  eternal  deep, 
Where  unthought  mysteries  ever  sleep, 


THE  BIRTHDAY. 

It  rose  in  beauty  on  our  sight, 

A  ray  of  the  celestial  light. 

Tears  greeted  it,  but  not  of  sadness, 

Tears  warm  with  love  and  bright  with  gladness ; 

And  grateful  thanks  to  Heaven  were  sent 

For  this  fair  gift  so  kindly  lent, 

On  life's  dim  shadowy  way  to  smile, 

And  its  oft  weary  hours  beguile. 

That  glimmering  star,  as  years  have  flown, 

Has  larger  waxed  and  brighter  grown  ; 

And  loving  hearts  have  quicker  beat, 

And  eyes  have  glowed  its  glance  to  meet. 

Now  clear,  full-orbed,  ascended  high, 

It  fixes  many  a  gazing  eye ; 

And  kindly  influence  lets  fall 

O'er  a  wide  sphere  to  gladden  all. 

A  guiding  star,  —  it  sheds  its  beams ; 

A  star  of  comfort  now  it  seems ; 

A  star  elect,  set  'mid  the  band 

The  Highest  holds  in  His  right  hand. 

Purer  and  purer  may  it  glow ! 

Wide  and  more  wide  its  splendor  throw ! 

When,  —  past  its  latest  natal  day,  — 

Its  light  for  earth  shall  fade  away, 

More  fair  and  glorious  let  it  rise, 

To  blaze  on  the  eternal  skies ! 


312  THE  MOUND. 


THE   MOUND. 

THOU  hast  a  charm,  thou  grassy  mound, 
That  draws  my  heart  to  thee ; 
And  oft  my  footsteps  linger  round 
The  spot  so  dear  to  me. 

'Tis  but  of  earth  a  simple  pile, 

With  mossy  turf  o'ergrown, 
Where  Spring's  first-peeping  violets  smile 

When  her  soft  winds  have  blown. 

The  summer  birds  around  it  sing 

Through  all  the  glowing  day, 
And  near  it  sit  with  folded  wing 

When  twilight  melts  away. 

Pale  Autumn,  with  her  pensive  mien, 

Strews  o'er  it  withered  leaves, 
And  seems  as  one  that  there  unseen 

In  silent  sorrow  grieves. 

E'en  wintry  snows  and  storms  seem  kind 
When  round  that  mould  they  sweep, 

As  they,  with  fleecy  robes, 'would  bind 
And  shield  what  there  may  sleep. 

The  ever-wakeful  stars,  by  night, 

Watch  o'er  it  from  above, 
And  cheer  it  as  with  glances  bright 

Of  eyes  that  beam  with  love. 


THE  MOUND, 

The  sun,  when  the  sweet  morn  awakes, 
Each  day  through  changeful  years, 

Makes  glad  the  spot  that  man  forsakes, 
And  dries  its  dewy  tears. 

Full  well,  —  O  dearer  thought !  —  I  know 

That  angels  linger  there, 
And  guard  the  slumbering  dust  below 

With  sleepless,  faithful  care  : 

I  know  that  e'en  the  Lord  on  high, 

Whose  word  all  worlds  obey, 
O'er  that  dear  dust,  with  loving  eye, 

Watch  keepeth  day  by  day. 

O  moments  blest !  when,  lowly  mound, 

I  sit  alone  by  thee, 
While  genial  Nature  smiles  around, 

And  breathes  her  peace  o'er  me. 

Then,  floating  on  the  tranquil  air, 

I  gentle  whispers  hear, 
Feel  deep  affections  waken  there, 

And  know  that  God  is  near. 

Ah !  then  swift  thought  far  onward  flies 
To  that  bright,  gladsome  morn, 

When  this  that  mortal,  mouldering  lies, 
Immortal  shall  be  born  ! 

When  He,  of  Life  and  Death  the  Lord, 

Who  holds  of  both  the  keys, 
Gives  Death  to  death,  and,  with  His  word, 

The  grave's  last  captive  frees  ! 


314       SONNETS  ON  CHRIST'S  SACRIFICE. 

Then,  then  shall  Love  its  harvests  reap, 
From  tears  of  sorrow  sown, 

And  its  rich  treasures  safely  keep 
Through  ages  all  unknown. 


SONNETS   ON   CHRIST'S   SACRIFICE. 

I. 
THE   ANOINTING. 

SHE  came,  —  the  sinful,  —  while  He  brake  the  bread, 
Her  broken  heart  now  healed,  and  brimming  o'er 
With  holy,  burning  love ;  she  came  to  pour 
Sweet,  precious  odors  on  that  reverend  head ; 

And,  —  as  by  deep,  prophetic  impulse  led,  — 
That  sacred  body,  soon  uplifted  high 
'Mid  scorn  and  shame  in  agony  to  die, 
Betimes  to  anoint  for  its  sepulchral  bed. 

Ungrudgingly  she  did  the  loving  deed  ; 

For  to  that  glowing  heart  no  offering  seemed 
Too  rich  for  Him,  —  no  cost  too  dear  she  deemed, 

If  He  with  one  kind  look  the  gift  might  heed  : 
The  selfish  chid,  pronounced  her  act  a  crime ; 
He  praised,  and  bade  it  live  to  latest  time ! 

ii. 
THE    ALARM. 

TTE  kept  the  Passover;  it  was  His  last; 

•*•  -1-     For  now  drew  near  the  great  predestined  day, 
When  of  man's  mighty  guilt  Himself  should  pay 
With  dying  groans  and  blood  the  ransom  vast : 


SONNETS  ON  CHRIST'S  SACRIFICE. 

The  cross  was  in  His  eye,  the  hours  flew  fast ; 
Yet  calm  He  sat,  and  looked  serenely  round 
On  all  the  twelve  ;  while  they  with  awe  profound, 
And  loving  gaze  on  Him,  revolved  the  past, 

The  future  from  them  hid :  then  touched  He  said,  — 
"  Of  you  one  shall  betray  me  unto  death !  " 
At  that  dire  word,  BETRAY,  they  all  did  start, 

As  if  a  thunder  peal  had  stilled  each  breath, 

Or  sudden  mortal  pang  shot  through  each  heart : 
Lord !  is  it  I  ?  each  cried  with  horrid  dread. 


in. 
THE    EXPULSION. 

r  I  ""HE  loved  disciple  lay  upon  His  breast, 
JL     Drinking  sweet  influence  from  that  voice  divine  ; 
He  asked,  the  Master  gave  at  once  the  sign 
That  marked  the  traitor,  justified  the  rest. 

Then,  with  convicting  glance,  while  yet  dismay 
Sat  on  the  faces  of  the  innocent, 
He  said,  —  and  Judas  knew  the  deep  intent, — 
"  What  thou  hast  purposed  DO  without  delay." 

Heart-smitten,  out  into  the  murky  night 
Went  he,  foul  demons  ruling  all  his  soul, 
And  floods  of  hate  that  surged  without  control. 

Then  Jesus  cried,  —  His  eye  beamed  heavenly  light,  — 
"  Now  shall  the  Son  of  Man,  betrayed,  denied, 
Before  all  men  by  God  be  glorified  !  " 


SONNETS  ON  CHRIST'S  SACRIFICE. 

IV. 
THE    INSTITUTION. 

HE  took  the  bread  and  blessed  it.     Then  He  brake 
And  gave  to  each,  and  said,  —  O  words  sub 
lime  !  — 

This  is  my  body  broken  !  through  all  time, 
In  memory  of  my  death  this  emblem  take. 

Next  for  the  cup  gave  thanks.     For  His  dear  sake, 
He  bade  them  taste  the  wine.     Drink,  'tis  my  blood, 
The  seal  and  witness  of  all  grace  in  God, 
Till  when  the  judgment  trump  the  dead  shall  wake, 

O  sacred  mystery  !     Communion  sweet 
Of  holy,  loving  souls  !  in  which  they  flow 
All  into  one  blest  brotherhood,  and  meet 

Ineffably  their  Lord  ;  and  joy  to  know 

That  at  this  simple  board  they  feast  with  Him 
Whose  face  unveiled  fires  the  rapt  seraphim ! 

v. 
THE   HOLY   BOND. 

\    LITTLE  while,  —  He  said,  —  and  hence  I  go  ; 

•**•     And  ye  shall  seek  me,  but  ye  shall  not  find  ; 
Ye  may  not  follow  now  ;  but  left  behind, 
My  witnesses,  the  world  by  you  shall  know 

The  truth,  that  truth  strike  root  and  grow ; 
A  holy  kingdom  rise  and  wide  extend  ; 
Till  e'en  earth's  proudest  shall  submissive  bend, 
And  unto  me  all  tribes  and  nations  flow ! 


SONNETS  ON  CHRIST'S  SACRIFICE. 

Behold  !  a  new  command  to  you  I  give ; 
Love  one  another ;  all  who  will  be  mine, 
Let  love  in  one  blest  fellowship  combine, 

That  each  for  all,  and  all  for  each  may  live. 

So,  marked  of  men,  shall  ye  'mid  earth's  dim  night 
Divinely  glow  with  pure,  celestial  light. 

VI. 
GETHSEMANE. 

OPREAD  thick  above,  ye  clouds,  your  dusky  veil, 

^     Hide  from  yon  stars  the  Saviour's  bitter  woe  ; 
Breathe,  ye  night  winds,  in  murmurs  sad  and  low, 
Or  lift,  in  fitful  gusts,  your  mournful  wail : 

Listen,  thou  Olivet !  and  Kedron's  vale 

Catch  the  sad  accents  that  are  borne  to  thee 
From  yonder  shade,  —  thine  own  Gethsemane,  — 
As  when  one  pleadeth,  and  doth  not  prevail. 

See,  to  the  earth  the  Holy  Sufferer  sinks  ; 

Weighs  on  His  heart  an  anguish  all  unknown ; 
Bursts  from  His  lips  the  thrice-repeated  prayer, 

Yet  firm  His  will  the  utmost  pang  to  bear; 
Till  for  Him  fainting  while  the  cup  He  drinks, 
Angels  bring  succors  from  the  eternal  throne ! 

VII. 
THE   SACRIFICE. 

WONDER  of  wonders  !      On  the  cross  He  dies  ! 
Man  of  the  ages,  —  David's  mighty  Son,  — 
The  Eternal  Word,  who  spake  and  it  was  done, 
What  time,  of  old,  He  formed  the  earth  and  skies. 


SONNETS  ON  CHRIST'S  SACRIFICE. 

Abashed  be  all  the  wisdom  of  the  wise ! 

Let  the  wide  earth  through  all  her  kingdoms  know 

The  promised  Lamb  of  God,  whose  blood  should 
flow, 

For  human  guilt  the  grand,  sole  sacrifice : 
No  more  need  altar  smoke,  nor  victim  bleed ; 

Tis  finished !  the  great  mystery  of  love  ; 

Ye  sin-condemned,  by  this  blood  'tis  decreed 
Ye  stand  absolved ;  behold  the  curse  remove ! 

O  Christ !  Thy  deadly  wounds,  thy  mortal  strife 

Crush  death  and  hell,  and  give  immortal  life ! 


VIII. 
MARY   AT   THE   SEPULCHRE. 

i. 

WEEPING    she    stands.      Unmastered   yet   the 
Word,  — 

"  On  the  third  day  I  will  arise  again." 
She  finds  not  in  the  open  tomb  her  Lord, 
Nor  where  to  seek  Him  knows  ;  tears  fall  like  rain, 

Drowning  her  sight.     On  the  still  air  in  vain 
Falls  the  familiar  voice.     It  wakes  her  not 
From  the  deep  trance  of  grief's  o'erpowering  reign, 
That  seems  all  memory  from  her  soul  to  blot. 

But  hark !  Drawn  nearer  now,  distinct  and  clear, 
Breaks  on  her  quickened  sense  the  thrilling  tone ; 
"  Mary !  "     The  word  reached  not  alone  the  ear  ; 

Leaped  the  true  heart  with  ecstasy  unknown : 
"  Master !  "  she  cried,  all  doubt  for  ever  fled, 
And  ran  to  tell,  —  He  liveth  that  was  dead  ! 


SONNETS  ON  CHRIST'S  SACRIFICE. 


2. 

E'en  so  full  oft,  methinks,  the  loving  soul, 
Too  much  attent  to  its  own  griefs  and  fears ; 
Bewildered,  mazed,  while  quick  emotions  roll 
O'er  it  like  floods,  at  first  nor  heeds,  nor  hears 

That  voice,  which  heard  would  scatter  all  its  fears, 
Wake  holy  joy,  and  captive  hope  unbind  : 
Though  near  He  waits  whom  most  it  longs  to  find, 
And  kindly  speaks,  with  words  of  one  who  cheers 

A  friend  'neath  sorrows  bowed ;  though  He  would  heal 
The  bleeding  heart,  and  with  His  own  sweet  skill 
Assuage  its  anguish  keen,  and  bid  it  feel 

The  peace  of  happier  days,  remembered  still ; 
Yet,  unperceived,  unheard,  the  Master  stands, 
And  speaks,  and  stretches  forth  inviting  hands. 

3- 
Look  up,  O  sufferer,  dash  thy  tears  aside, 

Shake  from  thy  soul  the  load  of  heavy  grief ; 

Behold  thy  best  Beloved  at  thy  side ! 

In  His  dear  smile  find  a  divine  relief. 
He  bids  thy  sorrows  fly,  thy  pangs  be  brief ; 

To  His  own  breast  would  fold  thy  fainting  head  : 

O  joy  of  all  divinest  joys  the  chief, — 

To  rest  reposed  upon  the  heart  that  bled ! 
To  clasp  the  hand  that  erst  the  nail  did  mar ! 

To  hear  the  voice  that  from  the  cross  did  cry ! 

To  feel  the  arm  that  heaved  death's  mighty  bar 
Enfold  thee  when  thy  mortal  hour  is  nigh  ! 

Hail  Him  who  once  earth's  sharpest  anguish  bore, 

Thy  Lord,  thy  Life,  thy  Friend  for  evermore ! 


THREESCORE   YEARS. 


4- 
He  liveth  glorified,  —  set  far  above 

Angelic  thrones  and  powers  ;  yet  still  He  bears 

Within  His  human  breast  a  brother's  love ; 

His  brow  divine  a  brother's  aspect  wears ; 
Still  for  the  griefs  of  all  His  own  He  cares 

As  when  He  dried  the  faithful  Mary's  tears  ; 

The  wounded  spirit,  that  in  meekness  dares 

To  call  Him  "  Master !  "  tenderly  He  cheers, 
As  her  He  cheered  soon  as  His  voice  she  knew : 

She  wept,  thenceforth,  no  more  ;  but  rapturous  joy 

O'erflowed  her  heart,  —  that  heart  so  fond  and  true. 
So  when  distrust  would  all  thy  hope  destroy, 

O  weeping  one,  such  joy  thy  soul  may  thrill; 

Sorrow's  huge  billows  own  His  "Peace!  Be  still!" 


THREESCORE    YEARS. 
THE  SIXTIETH  BIRTHDAY,  AUG.  2,  1874. 

V\  THEN  first  I  saw  thee,  on  thy  youthful  brow 

*  *      The  light  of  dawning  beauty  softly  shone 
And  drew  the  admiring  glance, —  thou  knew'st  not 

how, — 
Thy  graces  hidden  from  thyself  alone. 

Sweet  gentleness  was  in  thine  eye  and  air, 
Yet  thy  whole  being  seemed  with  life  aglow ; 

And  o'er  thy  face,  in  every  feature  fair, 

Played  thought  and  feeling  in  their  changeful  flow. 


THREP:SCORE  YEARS. 

Beneath  all  outward  charms  there  beat  a  heart 
Rich  in  deep  sympathies,  and  warm  with  love 

That  from  itself  did  evermore  impart ; 
So  blessing  all,  as  angels  bless  above ! 

And  so  I  loved  thee  ;  richer  far  to  share 
Thy  heart's  affection  than  all  gold  to  gain, 

Than  all  ambition's  laurel  wreaths  to  wear, 
Or  crowns  that  glory  scatters  in  her  train. 

I  sought  and  won  thee  ;  and  thou  gav'st  thine  hand, 
And  with  it  heart  and  soul,  and  thou  wast  mine ! 

O  'twas  a  joy  untold  with  thee  to  stand 
Before  God's  altar  owned  of  thee  as  thine ! 

Then,  glad,  together  we  went  forth  to  try 

Life's  tasks  and  ventures,  all  as  yet  unknown, 

To  prove  what  in  the  future  hid  might  lie, 
Each  joyous  as  not  sent  to  strive  alone. 

Perception  keen  and  ever-restless  thought 

Formed  thee  for  action,  waked  to  high  desire  ; 

E'en  then  thy  eager  soul  with  courage  sought 
Some  noble  life-work  worthy  of  its  fire. 

And  thou  art  now  threescore !     I  scarce  believe 
The  story  of  the  swift-departed  years  ! 

Ah  !  crowding  memories,  ye  may  undeceive, 
Backward  ye  stretch  till  long  their  tale  appears. 

O  faithful  heart !  true  worshipper  of  good  ! 

In  pure  affections  rich,  in  courage  strong ! 
Through  changes,  changeless  thou  hast  firmly  stood, 

My  best  and  dearest !  constant,  and  so  long  ! 


322  THREESCORE  YEARS. 

Together  we  have  trod  the  rugged  way ; 

Together  many  a  brimming  joy  have  shared  ; 
Together  borne  the  burdens  of  life's  day, 

Together  to  its  storms  our  bosoms  bared  ! 

Nor  hast  thou  loved  in  vain :  within  this  breast 
Hath  lived  and  glowed  unfathomed  love  to  thee ; 

In  thee  this  heart  hath  rested,  ever  blest, 
And  trusting  e'en  as  thou  hast  trusted  me. 

Think  not  that  face  to-day  for  me  less  fair, 

Though  changed  perchance  by  care  and  grief  it  be, 

Than  when  youth's  brightest  smiles  were  gleaming 

there, 
Like  sunbeams  dancing  on  a  crystal  sea. 

With  rapture  ever  new  that  face  I  greet ! 

Dearest,  I  fold  thee  to  my  heart  again, 
As  when  I  felt  thy  youthful  pulses  beat ; 

At  threescore  dearer  art  thou  far  than  then ! 

Now  on  we  tread,  if  other  toilsome  days 
Await  us  ere  our  mortal  tasks  are  done ; 

And,  when  fall  o'er  us  life's  last  twilight  rays, 
O  may  the  hour  of  sleep  for  both  be  one ! 


EPITAPH, 
FOR  Miss  J.  H.  A.'s  MOCKING-BIRD. 

A  LAS,  poor  Bird  !     How  few  there  be 
^*"     That  live,  like  thee,  contented  ! 
How  many  live  to  mock,  like  thee, 
And  die  far  less  lamented  ! 


I  SAW   THEE. 

t 
I   SAW  THEE. 

"When  thou  wast  under  the  fig-tree,  I  saw  thee." 

T  SAW  thee  when,  as  twilight  fell, 

A     And  evening  lit  her  fairest  star, 

Thy  footsteps  sought  yon  quiet  dell, 

The  world's  confusion  left  afar. 

I  saw  thee  when  thou  stood'st  alone, 

Where  drooping  branches  thick  o'erhung, 

Thy  still  retreat  to  all  unknown, 
Hid  in  deep  shadows  darkly  flung. 

I  saw  thee  when,  as  died  each  sound 
Of  bleating  flock  or  woodland  bird, 

Kneeling,  as  if  on  holy  ground, 

Thy  voice  the  listening  silence  heard. 

I  saw  thy  calm  uplifted  eyes, 

And  marked  the  heaving  of  thy  breast, 
When  rose  to  heaven  thy  heartfelt  sighs 

For  purer  life,  for  perfect  rest. 

I  saw  the  light  that  o'er  thy  face 
Stole  with  a  soft,  suffusing  glow, 

As  if,  within,  celestial  grace 

Breathed  the  same  bliss  that  angels  know. 


REST,   SOLDIER,   REST. 

I  saw,  —  what  thou  didst  not,  —  above 
Thy  lowly  head  an  open  heaven  ; 

And  tokens  of  thy  Father's  love 
With  smiles  to  thy  rapt  spirit  given. 

* 

I  saw  thee  from  that  sacred  spot 
With  firm  and  peaceful  soul  depart ; 

I,  Jesus,  saw  thee,  —  doubt  it  not,  — 
And  read  the  secrets  of  thy  heart ! 


REST,   SOLDIER,   REST. 

ON  depositing  the  body  of  Brigadier  General  JAMES  C.  RICK  in  the  tomb. 

EST,  Soldier,  rest !  thy  weary  task  is  done ; 
Thy  God,  thy  country,  —  thou  hast  served  them 

well : 

Thine  is  true  glory,  —  glory  bravely  won  ; 
On  lips  of  men  unborn  thy  name  shall  dwell. 

Rest,  Patriot,  Christian  !     Thou  hast  early  died, 
But  days  are  measured  best  by  noble  deeds : 

Brief  though  thy  course,  thy  name  thou  hast  allied 
To  those  of  whom  the  WORLD  admiring  reads. 

Rest,  manly  form  !     Eternal  love  shall  keep 
Thy  still  repose,  till  breaks  the  final  dawn  ; 

Our  Martyr  stays  not  here,  —  He  knew  no  sleep  ! 
On  death's  dark  shadow  burst  a  cloudless  morn ! 


MRS.    IV.   L.   L. 


Live !  live  on  fame's  bright  scroll,  heroic  friend  ! 

Thy  memory,  now,  we  to  her  record  give, 
To  earth,  thy  dust:  our  thoughts  to  heaven  ascend, 

Where,  with  the  immortals,  thou  dost  ever  live ! 


THE  CHRISTIAN   SOLDIER'S   SLEEP. 
SERGEANT  JOHN  HANSON  THOMPSON. 

OMILE  softly,  skies,  upon  the  grassy  grave; 

**-*     Angels  !  about  it  holy  vigils  keep ; 
Where  calm  reposes,  in  his  dreamless  sleep, 
The  young  and  manly,  generous  and  brave : 

Deck  it,  ye  flowers  that  tears  of  love  shall  lave  ; 
Let  faithful  hearts  full  oft  beat  quicker  there ; 
A  glory  not  of  earth  the  spot  shall  wear ; 
For  He,  the  Lord  of  Life,  that  died  to  save, 

Of  the  still  sleeper  saith,  "  He  is  not  dead  I 
Whoso  believeth,  he  shall  never  die  !  " 
The  mortal  resteth  here  ;  the  immortal,  —  sped, 

Swifter  than  wings  or  fleetest  thought  can  fly, 
Above  yon  burning  stars,  —  exults  to  climb 
Of  heaven's  own  life  the  eternal  heights  sublime ! 


MRS.   W.   L.   L. 


OHE  hath  but  passed  to  heaven.     As  if  from  sleep, 
*~*     Sleep  soft  and  peaceful,  she  awoke  to  find 

Earth  with  its  pangs  and  tears  all  left  behind ; 

Rose  her  freed  spirit  up  the  airy  steep ; 


MRS.   W.   L.  L. 

On  steady  wing,  beyond  where  pale  stars  keep 
Their  watch  o'er  mortal  griefs,  she  upward  sped, 
Not  lonely,  but  by  sister  spirits  led 
To  that  dear  home  where  eyes  do  never  weep : 

Strange  rapture  thrilled  her  there ;  and  straight  her 

note 

With  sweet  accord  swelled  the  eternal  hymn 
Of  souls  redeemed,  led  by  the  seraphim ; 

Whose  echoes  through  the  circling  ages  float : 
Now  living,  conscious,  pure  as  angels  bright, 
With  God  she  dwells  in  everlasting  light. 


u. 

Who  would  recall  her  to  tread  o'er  again 

The  mortal  path,  —  from  heaven's  pure  bliss  recall  ? 
The  wish  were  weakness,  though  full  oft  must  fall 
Thick,  blinding  tears  from  eyes  that  once  were  fain 

To  catch  her  genial  smile,  ne'er  sought  in  vain ; 

Though  many  an  hour  fond  hearts  be  sad  and  lone, 
And  miss,  and  yearn  once  more  to  drink,  the  tone 
That  lingers  in  the  ear  like  some  lost  strain : 

No  ;  ye  that  loved  her,  now  to  Heaven  resign, 
Nor  wish  her  from  that  nobler  life  withdrawn  ; 
The  night  of  grief  shall  pass ;  and  with  the  morn 

Shall  come  sweet  memories  ;  and  a  face  divine 

With  all  your  worthiest  thoughts  shall  seem  to  blend, 
And  a  fair  form  your  wandering  steps  attend. 


THE  GATHERING  HOME. 


THE  GATHERING   HOME. 

HPHEY  gather  there !     They  gather  there  ! 
-*•       The  saintly  souls  of  ages  dead, 

The  good  that  earth  but  late  hath  lost, 
O'er  heaving  seas  and  tempest  tossed, 

Have  gained  their  port,  —  their  fears  are  fled ; 
Dies  far  away  the  surges'  roar, 
The  watch,  the  gloom,  the  dangers  o'er, 

All  joyfully  they  press  the  strand, 

Exulting  to  behold  the  longed-for  land  ! 

They  gather  there  !     They  gather  there ! 
God's  ransomed  host,  in  long  array ; 

The  burnished  gates  for  them  unfold, 

The  wondrous  city  they  behold 
That  shines  in  cloudless,  changeless  day ! 

With  glad,  triumphal  songs  they  come  ; 

Each  hath  his  own, — -no  tongue  is  dumb  ; 
Forgotten,  in  their  joy,  the  tears, 
The  wasting  toils  and  strifes  of  earth's  sad  years. 

They  gather  there  !     They  gather  there  ! 
They  tread  the  courts  by  seraphs  trod, 

They  wear  the  forms  that  angels  wear, 

In  faultless  grace  for  ever  fair, 
Made  in  the  likeness  of  their  God  ! 

They  feel  of  life  the  immortal  thrill, 

Of  life's  prime  fount  they  drink  their  fill ; 
And  from  the  dazzling  throne  there  fall 
Sweet  beams  of  love  divine,  suffusing  all. 


THE  GATHERING  HOME. 


They  gather  there  !     They  gather  there  ! 

This  is  the  Father's  house,  the  rest 

Prepared,  O  Christ,  for  Thee  and  Thine,  — 
Household  of  God  and  Home  divine ; 

They  pass  that  threshold  and  are  blest ; 

Safe  sheltered  near  Thy  throne  and  heart, 
Reached  nevermore  by  sorrow's  dart, 

Thou  giv'st  them,  —  the  long  waiting  o'er,  — 

Thy  blessed  face  to  see  for  evermore ! 

They  gather  there !     They  gather  there ! 
No  splendor  of  empurpled  morn 

Such  glory  flings  o!er  hill  and  plain 

As  pours  o'er  all  the  radiant  train, 
From  that  dear  face  for  ever  born  ! 

With  Thee,  the  Lamb,  they  need  no  sun ; 

From  Thee,  while  ceaseless  cycles  run, 
Light  pure,  serene,  and  full  shall  flow, 
And  all  thine  own  bask  in  the  genial  glow. 

They  gather  there !     They  gather  there ! 

They  meet,  the  parted  long !     Again 

Love  finds  its  lost !     The  husband  grasps 
The  wife'.s  fond  hand  !     The  mother  clasps 

Once  more  her  babe,  torn  from  her  when 

Death  snatched  it  in  the  long-gone  years, 
Unmoved  by  all  her  prayers  and  tears ! 

And  brother  greets  a  sister's  grace, 

Raptured  to  fold  her  in  the  old  embrace ! 

They  gather  there  !     They  gather  there  ! 
O  Love,  that  yearned  so  oft  in  vain 


THE  GATHERING  HOME. 

Through  mortal  years,  and  baffled  still, 

Still  yearned,  and  sought  with  steadfast  will 
To  find  the  lovely  without  stain, 

Unchecked  pour  forth  thy  fervors  now ; 

Not  one  of  all  the  throng  that  bow, 
The  sons  of  God,  about  the  throne, 
But  wears  true  beauty,  save  in  Heaven  unknown. 

• 

They  gather  there  !     They  gather  there ! 

Not  for  ignoble  ease ;  e'en  song, 

Were  there  no  tasks  the  strength  to  try, 
At  last  on  wearied  lips  would  die  ; 

In  that  high  world  the  spirit  strong, 
And  as  the  eagle  bent  to  soar, 
Untired  shall  range  creation  o'er  ; 

To  work  God's  perfect  will  intent, 

Forth  by  His  Word  on  Love's  great  errands  sent. 

They  gather  there !     They  gather  there  ! 

Ah  !  Life  through  death.     Life  just  begun 
When  the  full  cup  of  joy  they  taste, 
Nor  pleasures  pall,  nor  treasures  waste  ! 

In  Him  they  live,  — the  Holy  One,- 

By  whose  dear  cross  each  wears  a  crown, 
At  whose  dear  feet  each  casts  it  down  ; 

And,  while  all  chant  His  matchless  name, 

Intenser  burns  in  each  love's  quenchless  flame  ! 

They  gather  there  !     They  gather  there  ! 

Thou  who,  'mid  hopes  and  fears,  art  led 
As  if  through  deserts  wild,  o'erborne 
With  chafing  cares  or  left  to  mourn 


330  THE  STRAIN  I  LOVE. 

Lonely  and  sad  o'er  comforts  fled  ; 

Take  heart !     Take  heart !     The  holy  light 
Streams  on  thee  from  the  eternal  height  ; 
That  home  of  love  thy  rest  shall  be, 
There  loving  eyes  expectant  watch  for  thee ! 


THE   STRAIN   I   LOVE. 

A  GAIN  !     Those  chords  again  !     As  o'er  the  keys 
•**•     The  fairy  fingers  glide,  the  strain  swells  forth 
In  harmonies  that  all  entrance  the  soul ! 
It  wakes  pure  thoughts,  unlocks  the  fountains  deep 
Of  tenderness,  till  thence  the  flowing  tides 
Of  sweet  emotion,  —  as  each  varying  tone 
Speaks  to  the  heart  of  sorrow  or  of  love,  — 
Well  up  and  flood  the  breast.     Each  nerve  it  thrills 
With  exquisite  vibrations,  till  each  yields 
Pleasure  ineffable ;  as  if  some  harp, 
By  angel  fingers  touched,  were  heard  afar, — 
The  notes  unearthly,  such  as  charm  in  heaven ! 
It  quickens  my  whole  being ;  fills,  enchants, 
And  half  bewilders,  till  I  seem  to  float 
A  spirit  all  disrobed  and  light  as  air, 
Borne  upward  on  the  melodies  that  rise 
Like  viewless  exhalations  ;  or  as  one 
Soaring  in  dreams,  unfettered,  free  as  thought, 
Through  realms  of  perfect  beauty  all  unknown, 
Losing  himself  in  bliss  ! 

O,  yet  once  more,  — 
Once  more  repeat  the  strain  !     Break  not  the  spell ! 


THE  STRAIN  I  LOVE. 

From  out  her  opened  casket  Memory  now 

Brings  forth  her  precious  treasures,  hidden  long. 

Ah  !  those  dear,  distant  scenes  !     I  live  them  o'er. 

Childhood  comes  back !  its  purple  lights,  its  flowers 

Unmatched  by  all  the  bloom  of  riper  years ; 

Its  fantasies,  that  ever  came  and  went ; 

Its  rich  exuberance  of  joyous  life. 

And  youth  returns.     Its  bounding  pulses  throb 

With  ardor  for  high  contests  now  so  near. 

I  see  again  its  visions,  share  its  hopes, 

And  taste  anew  the  raptures  that  are  born 

Of  youthful  love,  when  first  it  fires  the  breast, 

Stay  !  stay  !  ye  blissful  fancies.     Let  me  feel 

Yet  some  brief  moments  the  delights  ye  bring. 

That  change  of  key !     How  soft  and  tender  now 
The  plaintive  tone.     It  touches  my  rapt  soul 
With  a  subduing  power.     I  seem  to  sit 
As  in  the  twilight  of  a  summer's  eve, 
When  clamorous  day  has  passed  and  all  is  still, 
Or  when  the  moonlight  broodeth  over  all, 
And  the  cool  dews  descend,  that  fall  as  tears 
Wept  silently  by  loving  eyes  in  heaven 
O'er  mortal  griefs.     And  lo !  the  airy  forms 
Of  childhood's  playmates  and  of  youth's  bright  band, 
And  of  the  numbers  loved  in  bygone  years, 
But  missed  long  since  on  earth,  who  one  by  one 
Were  counted  with  the  blest  beyond  the  stars, 
Around  me  seem  to  gather ;  and  intent 
I  hearken,  if  perchance  some  well-known  voice 
May  fall,  as  oft  of  yore  upon  my  ear, 
And  with  the  old  affection  fondly  gaze 
On  faces  dear,  remembered,  O  how  well ! 


TO   CLARA. 

Strange  transport,  wrought  within  my  yielding  soul, 
So  quick  responsive  to  the  trembling  string ! 
Dies  now  the  strain  I  love,  and  I  must  weep,  — 
Weep  not  of  grief,  but  of  ecstatic  joy, 
Which  these  deliciojus  sounds  do  ever  wake 
Whils  yet  I  listen,  and  which,  dying,  still 
In  lingering  echoes  round  me  seem  to  float. 


TO   CLARA. 

T    ADY  of  gentle  mien  and  eye, 
•*-*     We  every  hour  have  missed  thee, 
Since  when  we  gave  the  last  good-by, 
And,  at  the  parting,  kissed  thee ! 

• 

The  stars  above  grow  dim  at  dawn, 
Are  lost  in  day's  full  beaming ; 

But  thou,  our  star,  on  that  last  morn, 
Didst  shine  with  brighter  gleaming. 

Thy  winning  ways  and  witching  smile 
Seemed  all  enhanced  in  losing, 

And  sweeter  grew  each  tone  the  while  ; 
Ah  !  —  'twas  not  of  our  choosing,  — 

But  thou  wouldst  leave  us !     Yet  perchance 
Kind  hearts  for  thee  were  pining, 

Which  saw  their  sun  of  joy  advance, 
As  we  saw  ours  declining ! 


THE  MONKS  OF  CHESTER. 

I  saw  thee  last  upon  the  deck, 

A  manly  hand  warm  grasping ; 
Who,  who  in  thought  or  wish  would  check 

The  fervor  of  that  clasping  ! 

Ah  !  happy  all  thy  future  years, 
Where'er  thy  steps  are  bending, 

So  thou  may'st  have,  through  toils  and  tears, 
That  manly  form  attending ! 

Nay,  do  not  blush  ;  some  smiling  cot 

Awaits  thy  charms  to  grace  it ; 
Heaven  send  thee  earth's  divinest  lot, 

Till  heaven  itself  replace  it ! 


THE   MONKS   OF   CHESTER. 


I  FELT,  as  I  wound  my  way  along  the  echoing  passages,  a  solemn  awe,  and  a  vague 
and  indescribable  sympathy  with  the  long-forgotten  past.  My  imagination  restored 
the  old  monks  to  life. 


~\T  7HERE  are  they  then  ?  those  hooded  men, 

*  *       Whose  footfalls  now  no  more 
Yon  arches  echo  back  again 
That  echoed  oft  of  yore  ? 

Here,  in  the  olden  time,  they  strolled 

Along  the  well-worn  aisle, 
And  swelled  the  solemn  chant,  that  rolled 

Through  all  the  massy  pile ! 


334  THE  MONKS  OF  CHESTER. 

The  reverend  abbot,  trim  and  sleek, 
With  well-feigned  look  demure, 

The  burly  friar,  whose  aspect  meek 
Expressed  devotion  pure,  — 

Here  dwelt  in  yonder  cloisters  grim  ; 

And  oft  were  seen  to  glide 
Through  those  old,  winding  galleries  dim, 

Like  ghosts  at  eventide. 

Yon  vaults  well  filled  with  rosy  wine, 

The  larder  with  good  cheer, 
Well  pleased  they  could  the  world  resign, 

To  tell  their  aves  here ! 

When  round  that  stern  old  tower  the  storm 

Howled  dismally  and  wild, 
In  yon  refectory,  bright  and  warm, 

The  well-spread  banquet  smiled. 

Round  went  the  goblet,  and  each  quaff 
Warmed  each  glad  heart  the  more  ;  • 

Round  went  the  song,  —  the  jovial  laugh 
Burst  forth  in  loud  uproar ! 

Nor  died  away,  till  from  above, 

With  measured,  solemn  peal, 
The  midnight  hour  was  told,  —  their  love 

And  self-denying  zeal ! 

O,  where  are  these  good  Fathers  now  ? 

The  crumbling  walls  ask,  where  ? 
O'er  those  sepulchral  pavements  bow 

And  ask,  —  THEY  SLUMBER  THERE  ! 


THE  GOLDEN  WEDDING. 


THE  GOLDEN  WEDDING. 

~"*IS  fifty  years  !  'tis  fifty  years  !  how  swiftly  they 
-*-       have  fled ! 
Since  I  thee,  my  best  and  dearest,  to  the  bridal  altar 

led! 
In  youthful  grace   and   beauty   thou   wast   blushing 

fresh  and  fair ; 

'Twas  with  pride  and  exultation  that  I  stood  beside 
thee  there. 

The  hopes  that  then  we  cherished  were  the  kindling 

hopes  of  youth  ; 
The  vows  which  then  we  plighted  were  the  vows  of 

love  and  truth  ; 
And  light  before  us  glanced  as  we  thought  of  coming 

days, 
As  when  the  summer  sunbeam  o'er  the  trembling 

water  plays. 

Of  changeless  bliss  we  dreamed  not,  for  all  too  well 

we  knew 
That   athwart   life's  devious   path   many  an  unseen 

arrow  flew  ; 
But  we  trusted  that  when  wounded,  when  the  bitter 

tear  should  start, 
Sweet  sympathy  would  heal,  and  cheat  of  half  its  woe 

the  heart. 


THE   GOLDEN  WEDDING. 

And  we  thought  that  should  kind  Heaven*  deign  to 
;  .  smile  upon  our  lot, 

Grant  a  home  and  tranquil  days  in  some  dear  se 
cluded  spot, 

The  flowers  would  seem  more  lovely  and  the  stars 
shed  purer  light, 

As  we  gazed  on  them  together  with  reciprocal  delight. 

Now  that  fifty  years  are  passed,  and  we  cast  a  look 

behind, 
What  speaks  the  quick  emotion  that  is  rushing  o'er 

each  mind  ? 
Saith  it  of  disappointment,  —  of  each  vision  empty 

found  ? 
Of  hope's  bright  star  declining  and  thick  darkness 

gathered  round  ? 

No,  no,  our  thanks  we  offer  to  the  gracious  Hand 

that  guides  ; 
'Tis  a  placid  stream  that  bears  us,  and  peacefully  it 

glides. 
May  coming  years  thus  greet  us,  till  life's  latest  sands 

are  run, 
And  life's  close  be  like  the  twilight  when  has  set  a 

cloudless  sun. 


FAREWELL    TO  ROME, 
FAREWELL  TO   ROME. 

COMPOSED  in  a  night  ride  from  Rome  to  Civita  Vecchla. 


TMPERIAL  City!   I  have  dreamed  of  thee 
•*•     Through  long,  long  years,  since  when,  in  early 
prime, 

I  traced,  with  heart  deep  stirred,  thy  history 

Of  men  heroic,  and  of  deeds  sublime : 
Thy  storied  names,  which  on  the  scroll  of  time 

But  gather  brightness  with  the  flight  of  years  ; 

Or,  —  if  all  stained  with  tyranny  and  crime, 

With"  blood  of  slaughtered  innocence  and  tears 
Of  bitter  agony,  —  but  blacker  grow, 

As  grows  the  detestation  of  mankind ; 

Around  thy  Tiber,  have  availed  to  throw, 
And  o'er  thy  hills,  where  sits  decay  enshrined, 

A  spell  that  warmed  my  soul  with  classic  fire, 

And  waked,  to  see  thee,  restless,  keen  desire ! 

ir. 

And  I  have  seen  thee  !     And  my  feet  have  trod 
Among  thy  crumbling  glories  ;  climbed  the  height 
Of  thy  famed  Capitol,  where  erst  thy  god, 
Great  Jupiter,  enthroned  in  awful  might, 

His  dwelling  kept  ;  whither  old  warriors  came 
With  pomp  and  triumph  from  the  field  well  won, 
To  bring  their  trophies,  and  to  light  the  flame 
Upon  his  altar ;  forth,  when  day  was  done, 


THE  ANGEL-CHILD. 

My  steps  have  strayed  to  see  the  moonlight  fall 
Where  ivies  o'er  the  Coliseum  creep, 
And  mark  the  shadows,  by  the  ruined  wall 

Where  dwelt  the  Caesars,  dark  and  lonely  sleep ! 
Henceforth  'tis  memory  all,  —  the  dream  is  o'er; 
Rome,  fare  thee  well,  I  muse  on  thee  no  more ! 


THE   ANGEL-CHILD. 

*  I  "HE  seal  of  heaven  was  early  set, 

•*•     Sweet  child,  upon  thy  sunny  brow ; 
Though  lost  to  earth  thou  livest  yet,     * 
All  bright  and  glad  I  see  thee  now ! 

Those  glowing  eyes,  that  gentle  smile, 
Spoke  thee  for  earth  a  thing  too  fair ; 

A  cherub  lent  from  heaven  awhile, 
A  cherub's  grace  'twas  thine  to  wear. 

Oft  fondly  beat  a  father's  heart, 
To  see  thy  budding  life  unfold  ; 

And  oft  a  mother's  tear  did  start, 
Born  of  deep  yearnings  all  untold. 

Hope  dreamed  that  many  a  smiling  year 
Should  many  a  ripening  charm  display ; 

But,  oh  !  a  voice  we  could  not  hear 
Won  thee  in  childhood's  dawn  away. 


MISANTHROPY. 

Yet  but  in  seeming  didst  thou  die : 
A  joyous  spirit,  swift  of  wing, 

'Twas  thine  to  cleave  yon  azure  sky, 
And,  like  the  lark,  to  soar  and  sing. 

Unquenched  is  that  immortal  fire  ! 

Dear  child,  thou  didst  not  live  in  vain  ; 
And  Heaven  shall  grant  our  warm  desire, 

To  fold  thee  to  our  hearts  again ! 


MISANTHROPY,   AND   RESPONSE. 

WORLD,  to  some  so  bright  and  fair, 

Thy  charms  I  cannot  see ; 
Thy  joys  — thy  purest,  choicest  — are 
But  hollow  joys  to  me. 

When  all  around  look  blithe  and  gay, 

And  every  heart  is  glad, 
I  turn  in  weariness  away, 

In  spirit  sore  and  sad. 

Not  e'en  the  fireside's  kindly  cheer 
Can  smooth  my  knitted  brow ; 

In  that  which  once  I  prized  so  dear 
I  find  no  pleasure  now. 

Farewell,  ye  pomps  of  life  !  farewell, 

Ye  pageants  all  untrue  ! 
Scenes  'mid  which  others  joy  to  dwell 

I  bid  ye  glad  adieu ! 


34P  RESPONSE    TO  MISANTHROPY. 

Where  nature  blooms  in  beauty  pure 
My  footsteps  now  I  bend, 

There,  unmolested  and  secure, 
A  life  of  peace  to  spend. 

Be  mine  the  hermit's  lonely  cot, 

Round  which  the  wild-flowers  wave ; 

And  there,  unheeded  and  forgot, 
Be  mine  his  lonely  grave. 


RESPONSE. 

\  ND  think'st  thou,  fool,  when  thou  hast  fled 
•**•     The  busy  haunts  of  men, 
That  thou  shalt  find  thy  passions  dead, 
To  waken  not  again  ? 

Think'st  thou  thy  soul's  deep  craving,  felt 

Without  thy  wish  or  will, 
When  thou  hast  by  thy  pallet  knelt, 

Shall  evermore  be  still  ? 

The  warm  affections  in  thy  breast, 

That  keenly  thirst  for  love, 
Think'st  thou  that  these  can  lie  at  rest, 

Content  no  more  to  rove  ? 

The  conscious  power  for  noble  deeds, 

That  wakens  high  desire, 
Think'st  thou,  when  thou  hast  told  thy  beads, 

'Twill  stir  no  inward  fire  ? 


RESPONSE   TO  MISANTHROPY. 

The  sense  of  duty  that  commands 
To  do  with  all  the  might,       ^ 

When  thou  shalt  fold  thy  idle  hands, 
Will  this  forswear  the  right  ? 

The  thought  of  deeds  of  love  that  thou 
Shouldst  every  day  have  done, 

Will  it  not  haunt  when  thou  shalt  bow, 
As  nightly  sets  the  sun  ? 

The  world's  great  agonizing  cry, 
From  suffering  millions  wrung, 

Will  that  for  thee  in  silence  die, 
When  thou  hast  vespers  sung  ? 

The  dread  of  reckoning  strict  and  stern 
For  unused  gifts  and  powers, 

Will  that  not  in  thy  bosom  burn, 
Through  all  thy  lonely  hours  ? 

Ah,  fling  thy  fatal  dream  aside, 
Stand  forth  in  manhood  true  ; 

Where  life's  great  battle  rages  wide 
Be  strong  to  dare  and  do  ! 

In  virtue's  conflict  stern  and  high, 
Thy  soul  shall  grow  divine  ; 

In  triumphs,  joy  shall  light  thine  eye, 
And  holy  peace  be  thine. 

With  splendor  then  shall  close  the  day 
That  ends  thy  mortal  strife  ; 

Men  by  thy  grave  shall  pause,  and  say, 
"  He  lived  a  noble  life  ! " 


342  SONG. 


SONG. 

"VT'EARS  have  seemed  months,  love, 
-*-       When  passed  at  thy  side  ; 
But  months  seem  long  years,  love, 

When  without  thee  they  glide  ; 
Wearily  breaketh  now 

The  bright  dawning  day, 
Wearily  evening  falls, 

And  thou  far  away. 

What  though  I  roam,  love, 

'Mid  old  storied  towers, 
Wander  through  palaces, 

Gardens,  and  bowers  ? 
Or  stray  by  sweet  rivers 

Made  classic  in  song  ? 
One  charm  still  is  wanting, 

One  name  on  my  tongue. 

Thy  smile  hath  cheered,  love, 

Hath  lighted  my  path, 
When  dark  clouds  have  gathered, 

Or  burst  in  their  wrath  ; 
So  long  hath  it  blessed  me, 

So  dear  hath  it  grown, 
Without  it  my  heart  pines, 

All  saddened  and  lone. 

Speed,  speed  the  hours,  love, 
That  bear  me  once  more 


PALMER'S  INDIAN  MAID. 

Back  to  thy  fond  arms, 
A  wanderer  no  more  ; 

Bright  though  the  way  be 
That  tempts  me  to  roam, 

I'm  most  of  all  blest,  love, 
With  thee  and  at  home ! 


PALMER'S   INDIAN   MAID. 


V\7ONDROUS  Enchanter !  at  that  touch  of  thine, 
*  *      The  cold,  dead  marble  warms  and  lives  and 

wakes ; 

The  shape  thy  thought.would  give,  it  plastic  takes, 
Rises  and  stands  in  symmetry  divine : 

That  Indian  Maid  seems  but  to  wait  thy  call, 
To  break  the  spell  of  silence,  and  in  speech, 
With  those  just  parting  lips,  our  souls  to  teach 
Truths  pure  as  crystal  drops  on  flowers  let  fall. 

For  not  alone  the  outline  soft  as  air, 

With  each  material  grace  that  charms  the  sight, 
Thou  fashionest,  but  settest  also  there 

A  spiritual  beauty,  calm,  ethereal,  bright ; 
As  if  within  there  glowed  an  angel  soul, 
Whose  living  light  serene  suffused  the  whole ! 

ii. 
Creator  of  the  Beautiful  and  True, 

What  matchless  shapes  before  thine  inward  eye 

For  ever  float !  what  visions  open  lie 

Of  rarest  things  that  science  never  knew  ! 


344 


THOU  ART  UNTO  MY  SOUL. 


As  in  the  bosom  of  the  sleeping  lake 

That  no  breath  ruffles,  of  a  summer  morn, 

Sky,  mountain,  rock  and  tree,  green  slope  and  lawn, 

A  treasury  of  beauty  seem  to  make ; 

Even  so,  methinks,  dwell  ever  in  thy  mind 

Types  of  all  fairest  things,  —  an  endless  store,  — 
That  stay  thy  bidding  to  stand  forth  enshrined 

In  visible  form,  thenceforth  to  change  no  more. 
Thy  pure  creations  bid  our  souls  aspire 
To  know  the  Infinite  Beauty,  and  admire  ! 


THOU    ART   UNTO   MY   SOUL. 

THOU  art  unto  my  soul  even  as  a  rose, 
When,  blooming  full  on  the  fresh  morning  air, 
It  breathes  its  perfume,  while  in  soft  repose 
On  its  pure  bosom  glitter  dew-drops  fair : 

Or  thou  art  as  the  star  serene  that  glows 

At  twilight,  when,  dim  lingering  o;er  the  hill, 
Day's  last  hue  fades,  and  night  her  mantle  throwc 
In  deepening  shades ;  the  star  that  sweetly  fills 

With  tender,  pensive  thoughts  the  gazer's  breast, 
Who  looketh  from  this  troubled  world  afar, 
And  dreameth  that  perchance  in  it  is  rest 

To  weary  spirits,  worn  with  life's  rude  jar : 

Morn  hath  no  flower  more  fair,  more  sweet  than 

thou, 
No  gem  more  radiant  studs  night's  ebon  brow ! 


THE  NEW  YEAR. 


THE  NEW  YEAR. 

TRADES  soon  the  mystic  glory 
That  on  fair  childhood  lies  ; 
And  all  too  brief  the  story 

Its  vanished  dream  supplies  ; 
And  youth  with  heart  high  beating, 

With  hopes  that  spring  so  fast, 
Than  morning  mist  more  fleeting, 

On  swift  wing  sweepeth  past 

The  pride,  the  strength,  the  beauty, 

That  come  with  manhood's  prime ; 
The  zeal  that  nerves  to  duty, 

And  stirs  to  deeds  sublime  ; 
Ambition's  lofty  scheming, 

And  pleasure's  cup  run  o'er, 
Wealth  o'er  its  treasures  dreaming, 

Success  that  asks  no  more ; 

All,  all,  years,  swiftly  flying, 

Too  soon  leave  far  behind; 
To  each  year,  ere  its  dying, 

Some' jewel  is  resigned  ; 
Some  star  that  bright  was  glowing, 

To  the  strained  sight  is  lost ; 
Some  flower,  that  fresh  was  blowing, 

Falls  blighted  by  the  frost. 


THE  NEW  YEAR. 

The  friends  that  once  were  treading 

Life's  pathway  by  our  side, 
Their  love  its  sweetness  shedding, 

Like  perfume  far  and  wide,  — 
With  finished  years,  have  slumbered, 

Have  vanished  from  our  sight, 
With  holy  angels  numbered, 

Beyond  the  vault  of  night. 

O  Earth !  thou  ever  growest 

Yet  poorer  to  our  thought ; 
Time  breaks  the  spell  thou  throwest 

O'er  hearts  thy  bribes  have  bought ; 
Beyond  thy  pageants  ranging, 

Our  souls  do  beauty  see, 
Whose  charms,  from  thine  estranging, 

Withdraw  our  love  from  thee. 

Yet,  life !  thy  years  that  stay  not, 

Thy  scenes  that  glide  away, 
Thy  pleasures  that  delay  not, 

The  strifes  that  fill  thy  day ; 
Come  not  in  vain  to  mortals, 

If  faith  divine  they  give, 
And  up  through  heaven's  high  portals 

Bring  man  with  God  to  live. 

.  « 

New  Year  !  that,  with  glad  greeting, 
Hast  come  once  more  to  me, 

In  whispers  still  repeating 
Words  oft  said  tenderly  ; 


THE  SCEPTIC. 

Thy  voice  my  soul  now  heeding, 

To  noblest  aims  I  rise, 
And  on  where  God  is  leading 

Tread  with  uplifted  eyes. 

Though  all  is  darkly  hidden 

Along  the  path^  I  take, 
No  tear  shall  fall  unbidden, 

Nor  foe  my  peace  shall  break. 
Thy  hand  may  kindly  feed  me, 

Give  rest  by  waters  still ; 
Or,  if  through  storms  it  lead  me, 

My  soul  accepts  Thy  will. 

When  years,  so  swiftly  flying, 

Shall  all  have  run  their  round; 
When  death  itself  is  dying, 

And  earth  no  more  is  found  ; 
O  Saviour,  then  behold  me, 

From  Thy  great  judgment-throne, 
And  let  Thine  arms  enfold  me, 

Thy  lips  call  me  THINE  OWN  ! 


THE   SCEPTIC. 

PITY  the  poor  doubter,  darkly  driven, 

He  knows  not  whither,  o'er  life's  troubled  main  ; 
On  sun  and  stars,  to  light  the  wanderer  given, 
His  eyes,  now  half  bedimmed,  are  turned  in  vain. 


THE  SCEPTIC. 

No  needle  points  for  him  the  dubious  way ; 

No  friendly  chart  guides  o'er  the  trackless  deep ; 
No  lighthouse  greets  him  with  its  gladsome  ray ; 

No  haven  welcomes  when  wild  tempests  sweep. 

The  voice  divine  within  he  heedeth  not ; 

The  book  of  nature  he  doth  all  misread ; 
Celestial  Truth  denied,  "her  words  forgot, 

Illusion  cheats  him  and  false  lights  mislead. 

In  fond  conceit  he  dreams  ere  long  to  find, 

By  his  own  wisdom  led,  a  region  fair, 
Where  placid  streams  adown  sweet  valleys  wind, 

And  days  serenely  glide  without  a  care. 

Ah,  no !  though  many  a  blooming  realm  there  be, 
Where  beauty  smiles  beneath  a  cloudless  sun, 

Yet  such  fair  shore  his  eye  shall  never  see, 
Misfortune's  victim  ere  his  course  be  run. 

His  fated  bark,  long  tossed  the  ocean  o'er, 
At  last  shall  founder  helpless  and  alone ; 

Or  stranded  on  some  rugged,  surf-beat  shore, 
O'er  him,  in  woful  dirge,  the  waves  shall  moan. 

Thou  that  hast  faith,  on  God's  good  Word  hold  fast; 

Thy  chart  and  compass  both  His  truth  shall  be, 
Till,  reached  thy  port  and  all  thy  perils  past, 

In  peace  thou  floatest  on  the  crystal  sea. 


SOA'G. 


SONG. 


i  glide,  love, 

Glide  o'er  the  deep  ; 
Hushed  are  the  wild  winds, 

The  proud  billows  sleep ; 
Soft  gleams  the  summer  moon 

On  the  still  sea ; 
Yet  roams  my  thought,  love, 

It  wanders  to  thee. 

All,  all  is  beauty, 

Around  and  above ; 
With  me  are  kind  hearts, 

And  eyes  beaming  love ; 
Fair  lips  breathe  music 

That  charms  the  rapt  ear, 
But  stirs  not  the  soul,  love, 

'Tis  not  thee  I  hear ! 

Where'er  thou  art,  love, 

Peace  fill  thy  breast ! 
Pure  spirits  guard  thee, 

Awake  or  at  rest ; 
When  the  morn  breaketh, 

With  breeze  fresh  and  free, 
O,  may  it  bear,  love, 

This  fond  heart  to  thee ! 


TO   THE  SHEPHERDS. 
TO   THE   SHEPHERDS. 

"  Comfort  ye,  comfort  ye  my  people ;  saith  your  God."  —  Is.  xl.  I. 

COMFORT  ye  my  people,  comfort  ye, 

The  Lord  Jehovah  saith, 
The  faithful  souls  that  daily  unto  me, 

As  if  with  fainting  breath, 
Call  for  the  helping  hand,  or  lift  their  eyes 
In  calm,  appealing  silence  to  the  skies. 

0  comfort  ye  my  chosen.     Lo  !  they  tread 

As  on  a  desert  way  ! 
Foot-sore  and  weary,  and  oft  hard  bested 

Through  many  a  toilsome  day  ; 
With  heart-aches  oft  and  tears  that  dim  their  sight, 
With  cares  by  day  and  fears  that  haunt  by  night. 

Speak  words  of  comfort,  ye  who  lead  the  flock ; 

My  well  beloved,  —  more  dear 
Than  priceless  gems  that  from  the  rifted  rock 

Are  gathered  bright  and  clear,  — 

1  count  my  jewels,  and  with  sleepless  eye 
Watch  o'er  them  ever,  guard  them  from  on  high. 

Tell  them  my  changeless  love,  whate'er  betide, 

Shall  make  them  safely  dwell ; 
In  my  Pavilion  hid  they  shall  abide, 

Nor  dread  the  hosts  of  hell ; 
In  weariness,  with  me  they  shall  have  rest 
And  find  divine  repose  as  on  my  breast. 


TO   THE  SHEPHERDS. 

When  days  are  dark  and  earth  looks  bleak  and 
drear*, 

When  sinks  the  lonely  heart 
And  falters  faith  ;  say,  Be  ye  of  good  cheer, 

Nor  let  your  trust  depart ; 
The  Lord  forgetteth  never.     He,  your  Light, 
To  cloudless  day  shall  change  the  darksome  night. 

To  the  green  pastures  lead  them,  where  my  Word 

Spreads  out  all  pure  delights ; 
Where  the  sweet  voice  of  grace  and  promise  heard 

To  love  and  hope  invites ; 
And  distant  vision  of  the  eternal  hills 
Where  feed  the  ransomed  flock  with  rapture  fills. 

Bid  them  be  mindful  what  the  joy  shall  be, 

When  their  glad  eyes,  so  long 
Expectant  waiting,  their  dear  Lord  shall  see ! 

When  from  the  immortal  throng 
"  Worthy  the  Lamb  !  "  they  hear,  and  at  His  feet 
In  grateful  transport  bow,  their  bliss  complete ! 

Ay  !  go,  ye  shepherds,  comfort  ye  my  flock 

With  words  of  faithful  love  ; 
Say  I  will  give  them  water  from  the  rock 

And  manna  from  above  ; 

The  stream  for  them  divide,  with  mighty  hand, 
That  parts  earth's  desert  from  the  blessed  land. 


A   HYMN  OF  LOVE. 


THE  following  hymn  should  have  found  a  place  alnong  the  original  hymns  vuth 
which  the  volume  opens,  but  was  by  accident  omitted. 


A   HYMN   OF   LOVE. 

TN  Thee,  O  God,  the  hosts  above 
•*-     For  ever  live  supremely  blest ; 
And  I,  on  earth,  like  them  would  love ; 
Like  them,  as  on  Thy  bosom  rest. 

I  may  not  know  Thee  as  Thou  art, 
While  here  my  darksome  way  I  tread ; 

Yet  thanks  that  now  I  know  in  part, 
And  hourly  by  Thy  hand  am  led. 

Unseen,  Thou  dost  Thyself  reveal, 

In  Thine  own  ways  to  sense  unknown  ; 

Thy  hidden  glories  oft  I  feel 

Come  flowing  o'er  me  from  Thy  throne. 

All  sweetest  tenderness  and  grace, 

Beauty  and  majesty  divine, 
Draw  my  charmed  soul  to  Thine  embrace, 

And  blend  my  mortal  love  with  Thine. 

In  Thy  pure  light  'tis  mine  to  bask, 
Around  me  falls  its  noontide  beam ; 

In  calm  content  no  more  I  ask, 

While  filled  with  Thee,  my  God,  I  seem. 

The  joy  that  through  my  being  flows 
New  gladness  lends  to  brightest  days  ; 

Morn  fresher  wakes,  and  evening  glows 
More  lovely,  while  I  breathe  Thy  praise. 


A   HYMN  OF  LOVE.  353 

The  wide  creation  spreads  more  fair 
As  bright  o'er  all  Thy  smile  I  see ; 

And  thousand  voices,  soft  as  air, 

Seem  whispering  to  my  heart  of  Thee ! 

Thine  image  on  each  human  brow 

To  nobler  beauty  seems  to  wake ; 
With  warm  embrace  I  welcome  now 

Each  man  a  brother  for  Thy  sake ! 

As  past  me  fly  the  swift-winged  years, 

Thy  mercies  all  their  circuits  fill ; 
Thy  goodness,  like  the  sun,  appears 

Throughout  all  time  resplendent  still. 

Since  once  for  sin  the  Lord  hath  died, 
No  more  I  fear  that  Thou  wilt  frown  ; 

Come  life,  come  death,  whate'er  betide, 
Love  floods  my  soul  and  fear  shall  drown  ! 

As  mounts  the  joyous  lark  on  high, 
To  greet  with  songs  the  purple  dawn, 

So  would  I  pierce  yon  azure  sky, 

And  hail  Heaven's  brightly  breaking  morn. 

O  God  !  the  lustrous  gates  unfold  ; 

Let  Thy  full  glory  on  me  fall ; 
Thine  unveiled  face  I  would  behold, 

And  know  Thee  mine,  —  my  All  in  All ! 


AN  EPIS7^LE. 


AN   EPISTLE. 

To  THE  REV.  DR.  A.  H.  C.,  AN  HONORED  FRIEND  IN  A  RESPONSIBLE 
POSITION,  BUT  SIGHING  FOR  RETIREMENT. 


for  a  time  from  care  and  toil, 
I  tread  once  more  my  native  soil  ; 
And  'mid  kind  friends  and  grateful  cheer 
Survey  the  scenes  from  childhood  dear. 
The  same  blue  heavens  are  still  o'erhead  ; 
The  same  green  fields  before  me  spread  ; 
The  same  grand  ocean  as  of  yore 
Heaves  its  huge  billows  to  the  shore  ; 
The  same  gray  rocks  lie  piled  beside, 
That  surf  and  surge  have  long  defied  ; 
Along  the  same  smooth  beach  I  walk 
With  genial  friends,  and  kindly  talk  ; 
Or  in  the  twilight  stray  alone, 
Made  pensive  by  the  waves'  dull  moan  ; 
While  memories  wake  of  distant  years 
That  open  hidden  springs  of  tears,  — 
Memories  of  youth's  bright  scenes  that  o'er, 
With  their  dear  pleasures,  come  no  more. 

Ah  !  where  are  they,  the  fair,  the  young, 
That  with  me  here  oft  sat  and  sung 
Till  faded  the  last  lingering  light, 
And  evening  melted  into  night  ? 
Alas  !  of  these  the  many  rest, 
By  the  green  turf  their  bosoms  pressed  ; 


AN  EPISTLE. 

One  here,  one  there,  life's  labors  done, 
Its  prizes  lost  or  nobly  won. 
With  kindling  hope  and  purpose  high, 
Together  we  went  forth  to  try 
What  years  might  bring  of  good  or  ill ; 
They  rest,  I  wait,  am  toiling  still ! 
'Twere  weakness  now  for  them  to  weep 
Or  wish  to  break  their  peaceful  sleep. 
Be  this,  —  since  years  to  me  remain,  — 
My  care  that  years  pass  not  in  vain. 

On  Sabbath  morn  the  courts  I  trod 
Where  met  the  throng  to  worship  God. 
The  old,  the  young,  were  gathered  there, 
To  warm  their  hearts  with  praise  and  prayer. 
'Twas  mine  to  preach,  as  oft  before, 
His  Word  who  liveth  evermore ; 
And,  while  I  brake  the  Living  Bread, 
And  hoped  the  hungry  sheep  were  fed, 
And  called  the  heedless  to  forsake 
The  husks  of  earth,  that  bread  to  take, 
Methought  that  sweetly  o'er  us  came 
The  Spirit  once  revealed  in  flame, 
And  eyes  through  tears  were  seen  to  shine 
As  if  hearts  burned  with  love  divine. 
O,  then  'twas  joy  to  think  how  long 
These  walls  had  echoed  prayer  and  song ; 
How  in  forgotten  years  long  gone, 
A  saintly  host,  here  newly  born, 
Had  mounted  to  the  courts  above, 
Made  faultless  in  eternal  love. 
Twas  joy  to  think  how  happy  he 
Who  shepherd  of  this  flock  shall  be ; 


AN  EPISTLE. 

Who  here,  afar  from  noisy  strife, 
Shall  close  in  peace  a  useful  life. 
I  thought  of  thee,  my  friend,  wayworn, 
O'erpressed  with  burdens  bravely  borne ; 
Recalled  thy  frequent  wish  to  find 
Some  sweet  retirement  to  thy  mind, 
Whither,  from  life's  great  contests  fled, 
Through  quiet  paths  thy  feet  might  tread. 
'Tis  true  thy  wish,  in  reason's  light, 
Might  well  suggest  that  prophet's  plight 
Who,  sent  to  Nineveh,  was  fain 
To  flee  to  Tarshish  o'er  the  main, 
And  whom  at  sea  a  fate  befell 
Which  all  wise  men  should  ponder  well. 
Yet  thou,  perchance,  on  this  canst  stand,  — 
Thy  Tarshish  may  be  readied  by  land  ! 
And  so  I  mentioned  thee  as  one 
Who  here  might  sink,  as  sinks  the  sun 
In  glory,  when  thy  day  at  last 
Should  close,  in  tranquil  service  past. 
Right  glad  I  found  thy  honored  name 
Known  well  and  kindly, —  "such  is  fame." 
True  merit  cannot  lie  concealed  ; 
Its  lustre,  far  and  wide  revealed, 
Attracts  all  eyes,  and  surely  draws 
From  wondering  thousands  fit  applause. 
So  now  for  thee  an  open  way 
Lies  straight  before.     Heaven  speed  the  day 
When  thou,  once  set  o'er  this  loved  flock, 
Truth's  richest  treasures  shall  unlock ; 
By  living  streams  the  sheep  shall  lead, 
And  as  in  pleasant  pastures  feed. 


AN  EPISTLE. 

O  vision  fair !     O  pleasing  dream  ! 
This  all  unreal  must  I  deem  ? 
With  joy  these  eyes  thy  joy  shall  see, 
If  thy  long  wish  fulfilled  shall  be. 
Meanwhile  my  fervent  love  I  send, 
With  each  best  hope,  and  thus  I  end. 


557 


\ 


APPENDIX. 


APPENDIX. 

NOTE  A. 
"MY   FAITH    LOOKS    UP   TO   THEE." 

HPHE  desire  manifested  by  so  many,  to  learn  something 
in  relation  to  the  origin  of  this  hymn,  is  not,  perhaps, 
an  unreasonable  one.  The  writer,  however,  would  feel  no 
little  delicacy  in  making  any  attempt  to  gratify  it,  were  it 
not  that  in  one  way  and  another  it  has  happened  that  very 
inaccurate,  and  in  some  instances  wholly  apocryphal,  things 
have  been  reported  concerning  it.  It  has  furnished  quite 
a  striking  illustration  of  the  difficulty  of  transmitting  ver 
bally,  with  entire  accuracy,  a  few  simple  facts,  from  one 
person  to  another.  On  the  whole,  therefore,  it  has  seemed 
best  to  state  all  there  is  to  be  stated,  which  is  really  very 
little,  in  respect  to  the  time  and  circumstances  of  its  com 
position. 

Immediately  after  graduating  at  Yale  College,  in  Sep 
tember,  1830,  the  writer  went  to  the  city  of  New  York,  by 
previous  engagement,  to  spend  a  year  in  teaching  for  two 
or  three  hours  each  day  in  a  select  school  for  young  ladies. 
This  private  institution,  which  was  patronized  by  the  best 
class  of  families,  was  under  the  direction  of  an  excellent 
Christian  lady,  connected  with  St.  George's  Church,  the 
rector  of  which  was  then  the  good  Dr.  James  Mil  nor.  It 
was  in  Fulton  Street,  west  of  Broadway,  and  a  little  below 
Church  Street  on  the  south  side  of  the  way.  That  whole 


APPENDIX. 

section  of  the  city,  now  covered  with  immense  stores  and 
crowded  with  business,  was  then  occupied  by  genteel  res 
idences.  The  writer  resided  in  the  family  of  the  lady  who 
kept  the  school,  and  it  was  there  that  the  hymn  was 
written. 

It  had  no  external  occasion  whatever.  Having  been 
accustomed  almost  from  childhood,  through  an  inherited 
propensity  perhaps,  to  the  occasional  expression  of  what 
his  heart  felt  in  the  form  of  verse,  it  was  in  accordance 
with  this  habit,  and  in  an  hour  when  Christ,  in  the  riches 
of  His  grace  and  love,  was  so  vividly  apprehended  as  to 
fill  the  soul  with  deep  emotion,  that  the  piece  was  com 
posed.  There  was  not  the  slightest  thought  of  writing  for 
another  eye,  least  of  all  of  writing  a  hymn  for  Christian 
worship.  Away  from  outward  excitement,  in  the  quiet  of 
his  chamber,  and  with  a  deep  consciousness  of  his  own 
needs,  the  writer  transferred  as  faithfully  as  he  could  to 
paper  what  at  the  time  was  passing  within  him.  Six 
stanzas  were  composed,  and  imperfectly  wriften,  first  on 
a  loose  sheet,  and  then  accurately  copied  into  a  small 
morocco-covered  book,  which  for  such  purposes  the  author 
was  accustomed  to  carry  in  his  pocket.  ^  This  first  com 
plete  copy  is  still  —  1875  —  preserved.  It  is  well  remem 
bered  that  when  writing  the  last  line,  "A  ransomed  soul,'' 
the  thought  that  the  whole  work  of  redemption  and  salva 
tion  was  involved  in  those  words,  and  suggested  the  theme 
of  eternal  praises,  moved  the  writer  to  a  degree  of  emotion 
that  brought  abundant  tears. 

The  winter  of  1830-31  was  a  season  of  memorable 
religious  interest  in  the  city  of  New  York  ;  and,  as  "  coming 
events  cast  their  shadows  before,"  there  was  doubtless 
among  Christian  people,  in  December  of  that  winter,  a 
more  than  ordinary  degree  of  religious  feeling,  in  which 
the  writer  probably  shared.  But  the  season  of  manifest 
religious  revival  did  not  commence  till  a  month  or  two 


APPENDIX.  363 

later ;  so  that  it  was  not  true,  as  has  been  stated  in  some 
.notices  of  the  hymn,  that  it  was  written  in  the  midst,  and 
under  the  impulses,  of  this  revival.  This  fact,  of  course, 
is  of  no  particular  consequence.  It  is  only  one  example 
of  many,  in  which  slight  inaccuracies,  rhetorical  state 
ments,  and  the  imaginations  of  writers  or  speakers,  have 
sometimes  combined  to  form  quite  an  unauthentic  history 
of  its  origin.  It  is  simply  for  this  reason  that  it  has 
seemed  worth  while  to  state  the  exact  circumstances. 

A  year  or  two  after  the  hymn  was  written,  and  when  no 
one,  so  far  as  can  be  recollected,  had  ever  seen  it,  Dr. 
Lowell  Mason  met  the  author  in  the  street  in  Boston,  and 
requested  him  to  furnish  some  hymns  for  a  Hymn  and 
Tune  Book  which,  in  connection  with  Dr.  Hastings  of 
New  York,  he  was  about  to  publish.  The  little  book  con 
taining  it  was  shown  him,  and  he  asked  a  copy.  We 
stepped  into  a  store  together,  and  a  copy  was  made  and 
given  him,  which  without  much  notice  he  put  in  his  pocket. 
On  sitting  down  at  home  and  looking  it  over,  he  became 
so  much  interested  in  it  that  he  wrote  for  it  the  tune 
"Olivet,"  in  which  it  has  almost  universally  been  sung. 
Two  or  three  days  afterward  we  met  again  in  the  street, 
when,  scarcely  waiting  to  salute  the  writer,  he  earnestly 
exclaimed,  "  Mr.  Palmer,  you  may  live  many  years,  and  do 
many  good  things  ;  but  I  think  you  will  be  best  known  to 
posterity  as  the  author  of  '  My  faith  looks  up  to  Thee.' " 
Hymn  and  tune  together  soon  passed  into  common  use  in 
this  country ;  and  in  1840  the  hymn  was  introduced  into 
England  through  a  collection  published  by  Dr.  Andrew 
Reed,  and  is  now  found  in  nearly  or  quite  all  English  and 
Scotch  manuals  of  worship  of  recent  date. 

It  would  not  be  ingenuous  in  the  writer  to  affect  indif 
ference  to  the  fact  that  these  brief  words  of  his  have  been 
found  fitted  to  give  expression  to  the  utterance  of  so  many 
Christian  hearts  the  world  over,  and  that  the  hymn  has 


APPENDIX. 

become  a  favorite  among  all  evangelical  denominations. 
The  favor  with  which  it  has  been  received  is  doubtless  to 
be  attributed  to  the  embodiment  in  it,  in  appropriate  and 
simple  language,  of  that  which  is  most  central  in  all  true 
Christian  experience,  —  the  act  of  faith  in  the  divine 
Redeemer,  —  the  intrusting  of  the  individual  soul  to  Him 
entirely  and  for  ever.  That  it  has  come  to  be  so  often 
heard  in  Christian  assemblies,  and  at  the  sacramental 
table  ;  that  in  instances  almost  without  number  it  has 
been  the  last  earthly  song  of  the  dying  saints  of  God,  as 
well  as  their  refreshment  amidst  the  disciplines  of  life  ; 
that  it  has  been  translated  into  many  languages,  and  is 
literally  sung  around  the  world ;  and  finally  that,  in  a 
great  number  of  known  instances,  it  has  so  brought  the 
loving  Saviour  to  the  distinct  apprehension  of  souls  op 
pressed  with  sin  as  to  call  forth  for  the  first  time  peni 
tence  and  trust,  —  has  been  to  the  author  an  inexpressible 
joy,  and  of  devout  and,  he  hopes,  humble  thankfulness  to 
God,  from  the  inspiration  of  whose  Spirit  he  cannot  doubt 
it  came. 

It  has  been  with  much  hesitation,  and  at  the  urgent 
request  of  many,  that  these  paragraphs  have  been  written. 
It  is  hoped  that  they  may  save  the  necessity  of  replying  to 
letters  of  inquiry,  which  have  been  received  in  inconvenient 
numbers. 

The  text  of  this  hymn  has  suffered  by  alteration  in  only 
two  instances,  to  the  knowledge  of  the  writer.  The  com 
pilers  of  a  hymn-book  published  many  years  ago  in  Boston 
took  the  liberty  of  altering  the  hymn  so  as  to  change 
materially  its  theological  significance  and  spirit.  On  the 
earnest  remonstrance  of  the  author,  however,  with  the 
publishers,  they  at  length  agreed  to  publish  the  unaltered 
hymn  at  the  end  of  the  volume,  with  a  reference  to  it  as 
the  original  text,  and  did  so  in  good  faith.  The  other 
change  was  made  by  a  compiler  who  substituted  "  distress  " 


APPENDIX. 

for  "  distrust "  in  the  last  stanza  ;  not  perceiving  that  the 
whole  hymn  had  reference  to  the  affections  of  the'soul,  and 
not  to  the  sensations  of  the  body,  to  which  the  former  word 
would  most  naturally  be  taken  to  refer  ;  and  that  it  was 
wholly  incongruous  to  divert  the  thought  from  the  for 
mer  to  the  latter.  In  the  preface  to  the  small  volume 
entitled  "  Hymns  of  My  Holy  Hours,"  the  author  wrote  as 
follows:  — 

"  The  writer  feels  obliged  to  add  that,  if  the  compilers  of 
manuals  for  public  worship  shall  desire  to  introduce  any  of 
these  hymns  into  their  collections,  he  cheerfully  consents, 
provided  always  that  the  hymns  be  taken  exactly  as  they 
are.  "He  repeats,  even  with  greater  emphasis  than  in  the 
preface  to  a  former  volume,  his  protest  against  the  alter 
ation  or  abridgment  of  the  hymns  of  a  living  author,  to 
adapt  them  to  the  uses  or  the  tastes  of  others  without  his 
consent.  He  cannot  but  regard  it  as  a  breach,  not  of 
courtesy  alone,  but  of  Christian  morality  as  well." 

He  adheres  to  this  view  of  the  matter,  and  hopes  that 
those  who  are  willing  recklessly  to  sacrifice  the  unity  and 
completeness  of  hymns,  to  make  them  fit  the  blank  space 
they  may  happen  to  have  to  spare  on  a  given  page,  will 
pass  by  his  pieces  altogether. 

The  request  has  often  been  made,  by  letter  and  other 
wise,  that  the  author  would  communicate  any  interesting 
facts  that  had  come  to  his  knowledge  in  connection  with 
the  use  of  this  hymn.  A  great  many  such  facts  have  been 
communicated  to  him  ;  but  considerations  of  delicacy  would 
forbid  the  publication  of  them  in  many  cases,  and  the 
number,  too,  would  render  it  impossible.  He  will,  how 
ever,  add  here  two  or  three  touching  incidents  which  may 
serve  as  examples. 

During  the  late  civil  strife,  and  on  the  evening  preced 
ing  one  of  the  most  terrible  battles  of  the  war,  some  six  or 


APPENDIX. 

eight  Christian  young  men,  who  were  looking  forward  to 
the  deadly  strife,  met  together  in  one  of  their  tents  for 
prayer.  After  spending  some  time  in  committing  them 
selves  to  God  and  in  Christian  conversation,  and  freely 
speaking  together  of  the  probability  that  they  would  not 
all  of  them  survive  the  morrow,  it  was  suggested  by  one  of 
the  number  that  they  should  draw  up  a  paper  expressive 
of  the  feelings  with  which  they  went  to  stand  face  to  face 
with  death,  and  all  sign  it ;  and  that  this  should  be  left 
as  a  testimony  to  the  friends  of  such  of  them  as  might  fall. 
This  was  unanimously  agreed  to  ;  and,  after  consultation, 
it  was  decided  that  a  copy  of  "  My  faith  looks  up  to  Thee," 
should  be  written  out,  and  that  each  should  subscribe  his 
name  to  it,  so  that  father,  mother,  brother,  or  sister,  might 
know  in  what  spirit  they  laid  down  their  lives.  Of  course 
they  did  not  all  meet  again.  The  incident  was  related 
afterward  by  one  who  survived  the  battle. 

Another  interesting  case  was  that  of  an  active  business 
man,  residing  in  the  interior  of  the  State,  who  was  accus 
tomed  to  visit  the  city  of  New  York  from  time  to  time  for 
business  purposes.  Before  coming,  on  a  certain  occasion, 
he  had  observed  a  swelling  slowly  forming  on  his  person, 
which,  though  not  troublesome  as  yet,  occasioned  him 
some  anxiety ;  and,  after  attending  to  the  matters  for 
which  he  came,  he  went  to  submit  the  case  to  the  judgment 
of  an  eminent  surgeon.  He  was  frankly  told  that  it  would 
prove  a  malignant  tumor,  and  would  probably  terminate 
his  life  by  the  end  of  six  months.  This  was  of  course  a 
stunning  blow.  He  was  an  intellectual  believer  in  Chris 
tianity,  and  a  man  of  upright  life,  but  was  without  a  Chris 
tian  hope.  Before  leaving  the  city,  he  called  on  a  Christian 
lady,  —  a  sister,  we  believe,  —  and  told  her  what  the  sur 
geon  had  said.  On  parting  from  her,  she  placed  in  his  hand 
a  printed  leaflet,  which  he  accepted  and  put  in  his  pocket. 
Then  he  took  the  cars  on  the  Hudson  River  road,  and, 


APPENDIX. 

when  seated,  sunk  into  profound  thought  on  his  position. 
He  recalled  his  past  life,  so  filled  with  the  divine  goodness, 
his  sinful  neglect  to  return  this  with  love  and  obedience, 
and  his  failure  to  receive  the  Saviour  of  the  world  into  his 
heart.  Some  hours,  perhaps,  had  passed  in  this  way,  and 
his  heart  had  become  full  of  tender  feeling,  when  he 
remembered  the  leaflet  and  took  it  from  his  pocket.  At 
once  his  eye  rested  on  the  words, — 

"  My  faith  looks  up  to  Thee, 
Thou  Lamb  of  Calvary  !  " 

He  read  the  hymn  through  slowly,  and  many  times  over. 
His  heart  adopted  tl\e  language,  a  new-born  faith  found 
full  and  delightful  expression  in  it,  and  from  that  time  he 
had  a  tranquil  rest  in  God.  The  prediction  of  the  surgeon 
was  fulfilled  ;  and  he  died  joyfully,  having  this  song  sung 
to  him  to  the  very  last. 

We  will  add  but  a  single  example  more.  It  is  contained 
in  an  extract  from  a  letter  of  an  excellent  young  lady,  the 
daughter  of  a  clergyman,  who  had  been  long  suffering  from 
a  chronic  disease  :  — 

"One  morning,  long  ago,  I  awoke  with  more  than  the 
usual  exhaustion,  and  a  sense  of  discouragement  amount 
ing  to  oppression.  Do  you  know  that  kind  of  despair  so 
like  suffocation  ?  Bitter  repinings  rose  in  my  heart ;  hard 
thoughts  of  God  and  sinful  questionings.  Why  must  it- 
be?.  What  shall  I  do?  I  heard  the  rain  beating  against 
the  windows.  I  knew  the  day  must  be  dreary,  and  I  sighed 
aloud,  '  What  will  there  be  to  cheer  me  to-day  ? '  And 
then  I  hastily  glanced  about  the  room,  gladly  discovering 
that  I  was  alone,  and  turning  again  to  my  pillow  wearily. 
Hark !  the  chords  of  a  piano  !  The  family  must  be  at 
morning  worship.  Up  through  the  register,  as  distinctly 
as  if  breathed  at  my  bedside,  came  the  strain,  — 

" '  My  faith  looks  up  to  Thee, 

Thou  Lamb  of  Calvary, 

Saviour  divine  !' 


APPENDIX, 

"  I  enjoyed  it,  and  listened  eagerly. 

"  'Now  hear  me  while  I  pray, 
Take  all  my  guilt  away, 
O  let  me  from  this  day 
Be  wholly  Thine  ! ' 

"  I  felt  calmed.  I  would  look  up  for  cheer.  I  could 
not  say  that  dismal  morning,  '  Thou,  O  Christ,  art  all  I 
want ; '  but  I  could  say,  '  My  faith  looks  up  to  Thee.'  After 
ward,  for  several  days  and  nights,  I  repeated  the  hymn 
constantly,  especially  the  stanza,  '  While  life's  dark  maze 
I  tread.'  Maze  was  just  the  word  for  me.  You  know 
what  a  tangled  wild  my  path  of  late  has  been." 


NOTE  B. 

NOTHING  could  well  be  more  uncandid  than  the  repre 
sentations  of  a  certain  class  of  writers  in  their  attempts  to 
disparage  the  Fathers  of  New  England.  It  is  not  wonder 
ful  that  some  errors  of  past  ages  and  of  their  own  age  were 
still  revealed  in  them.  It  is  not  strange  that,  having  left 
their  native  land,  and  endured  all  sacrifices  for  the  sake  of 
enjoying  their  own  opinions  unmolested,  they  should  have 
been  sensitive  to  the  intrusion  of  new  elements  of  strife. 
That  they  misjudged  and  acted  wrongly  in  some  partic 
ulars  is  readily  to  be  admitted.  But  that  even  their  faults 
"  leaned  to  virtue's  side,"  only  ill-nature  and  prejudice  can 
deny. 

"  It  was  in  self-defence,"  says  the  historian  Bancroft 
(History  United  States,  vol.  i.  p.  463),  "that  Puritanism  in 
America  began  those  transient  persecutions  of  which  the 
excesses  shall  find  in  me  no  apologist ;  and  which  yet 
were  no  more  than  a  train  of  mists  hovering,  of  an  autumn 
morning,  over  a  fine  river,  that  diffused  freshness  and 


APPENDIX. 

vitality  wherever  it  wound.  The  people  did  not  attempt 
to  convert  others,  but  to  protect  themselves.  They  never 
punished  opinion  as  such  ;  they  never  attempted  to  punish 
or  terrify  men  into  orthodoxy.  The  history  of  religious 
persecution  in  New  England  is  simply  this :  The  Puritans 
established  a  government  in  America  such  as  natural  jus 
tice  warranted,  and  such  as  the  statutes  and  common  law 
of  England  did  not  warrant  ;  and  that  was  clone  by  men 
who  still  acknowledged  the  duty  of  a  limited  allegiance  to 
the  parent  state.  The  Episcopalians  had  declared  them 
selves  the  enemies  of  the  party,  and  waged  against  it  a  war 
of  extermination.  Puritanism  excluded  them  from  its  asy 
lum.  Roger  WiMiams,  the  apostle  of  '  soul-liberty,'  weak 
ened  the  cause  of  civil  independence  by  impairing  its  unity  ; 
and  he  was  expelled,  even  though  Massachusetts  always 
bore  good  testimony  to  his  spotless  virtues.  Wheelwright 
and  his  friends,  in  their  zeal  for  strict  Calvinism,  forgot 
their  duty  as  citizens,  and  they  also  were  exiled.  The 
Anabaptist,  who  could  not  be  relied  upon  as  an  ally,  was 
guarded  as  a  foe.  The  Quakers  denounced  the  worship 
of  New  England  as  an  abomination  and  its  government  as 
treason,  and  therefore  they  were  excluded  on  pain  of 
death." 

Elsewhere  (vol.  i.  p.  454)  Mr.  Bancroft  writes  :  "  Some 
of  the  Quakers  were  extravagant  and  foolish.  They  cried 
out  from  the  windows  at  the  magistrates  and  ministers 
that  passed  by,  and  mocked  the  civil  and  religious  institu 
tions  of  the  country.  They  riotously  interntpted public  wor 
ship  ;  and  women,  forgetting  the  decorum  of  their  sex,  and 
claiming  a  divine  origin  for  their  absurd  caprices,  smeared 
their  faces,  and  even  went  naked  through  the  streets."  It  was 
for  these  gross  violations  of  public  order  and  decency  and 
the  rights  of  other  people,  and  not  for  their  religious  opin 
ions,  that  they  suffered. 

The  historian  further  says:  "The  effects  of  Puritanism 

24 


370  APPENDIX. 

display  its  true  character  still  more  distinctly.  .  .  .  Puritan 
ism  was  a  life-giving  spirit ;  activity,  thrift,  intelligence, 
followed  in  its  train  ;  and,  as  for  courage,  a  coward  and  a 
Puritan  never  went  together." 

Again,  the  same  pen  writes  :  "  Of  all  contemporary  sects, 
the  Puritans  were  the  most  free  from  credulity.  ...  So 
many  superstitions  had  been  bundled  up  with  every  ven 
erable  institution  of -Europe,  that  ages  have  not  dislodged 
them  all.  The  Puritans  at  once  emancipated  themselves 
from  a  crowd  of  observances.  Hardly  a  nation  of  Europe 
has  as  yet  made  its  criminal  law  so  humane  as  that  of  early 
New  England.  A  crowd  of  offences  was  at  one  sweep 
brushed  from  the  catalogue  of  capital  crimes."  So  other 
standard  historians. 

It  is  a  sin  alike  against  the  memory  of  the  greatly  good 
and  against  truth  and  Christian  charity,  to  attempt  to  hide 
beneath  a  few  mistakes  the  most  exalted  virtues. 


NOTE  C. 

THE  Anglo-Saxon  race  have  everywhere  exhibited  strong 
social  affections,  and  among  them  have  been  found,  to  a 
greater  extent  than  among  those  of  any  other  race,  exam 
ples  of  well-ordered,  intelligent,  and  virtuous  homes.  But 
even  in  England  the  number  of  such  homes  in  proportion 
to  the  entire  population  is  small.  They  are  not  relatively 
numerous  beyond  the  circle  of  the  aristocracy  of  rank  and 
wealth.  But  among  the  Anglo-Saxon  population  of  our 
older  States  the  proportion  of  such  homes  is  large.  You 
can  hardly  go  into  any  respectable-looking  farm-house  in 
Massachusetts  or  Connecticut  without  finding  on  the  parlor 
table,  along  with  the  Bible,  the  works  of  Shakespeare,  Mil 
ton,  Adclison,  Johnson,  Cowper,  Wordsworth,  and  other 


APPENDIX. 


eminent  writers,  and  seeing  many  other  indications  of 
a  degree  of  intellectual  and  social  culture  not  extensively 
found  among  the  common  people  of  'any  other  land. 


NOTE   D. 

THE  writer  believes  most  fully  that  he  has  not  over 
stated  this  matter  in  the  text.  The  desire  for  the  intellect 
ual  development  of  their  children,  so  that  they  may  become 
qualified  to  bear  some  honorable  part  in  the  great  activ 
ities  of  life,  is  one  of  the  strongest  of  parental  instincts. 
Our  fathers  showed  how  powerful  it  was  in  them  by  found 
ing  schools  and  colleges  almost  before  they  had  secured 
for  themselves  the  ordinary  comforts  of  life ;  and  with 
patient  care  they  began  the  course  of  education  in  the  fam 
ily.  Yale,  Harvard,  and  other  institutions,  not  only  origi 
nated  in  parental  solicitude,  and  tastes  and  impulses 
nourished  in  the  household,  but  are  largely  dependent  on 
these  to-day,  and  always  must  be. 


NOTE  E. 

THE  dissolution  of  the  family  by  the  going  forth  of  its 
younger  members  one  by  one  to  the  tasks  of  life,  though 
it  is  always  a  sad  process  in  itself,  has  yet  its  compensa 
tions.  The  happiness,  the  enduring  welfare  of  the  child, 
becomes  to  the  thoughtful  parent  the  paramount  consider 
ation.  When,  therefore,  children  go  forth  from  beneath 
the  paternal  roof  under  favorable  auspices,  the  pang  of 
surrendering  them  is  materially  mitigated  ;  and  if  they  are 
seen  living  usefully  and  well,  and  especially  if  they  rise  to 
eminence  among  the  wise  and  good,  parents  cannot  but 
find  in  this  a  rich  and  abiding  satisfaction  that  in  large 
measure  compensates  for  the  loss  of  their  society. 


APPENDIX. 


NOTE  F. 

THE  poet  Burns,  though  he  went  to  an  early  grave  the 
victim  of  his  own  appetites,  exhibited  often  an  exquisite 
appreciation  of  what  was  morally  beautiful  and  touching. 
In  one  of  his  letters  he  writes  that  he  could  never  read 
without  tears  the  following  text  from  the  New  Testa 
ment  :  — 

"  The  Lamb  which  is  in  the  midst  of  the  throne  shall  feed 
them,  and  shall  lead  them  unto  living  fountains  of  waters  ;  and 
God  shall  wipe  away  all  tears  from  their  eyes." 


Cambridge :  Press  of  John  Wilson  &  Son. 


